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RICHES 


TRUE 


(Dtjur  Cahs. 


* 

BY  T.  S.  ARTHUR. 


% 

PHILADELPHIA: 

JOHN  E.  POTTER  AND  COMPANY- 
6x7  Sansom  Street 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year,  1859,  by 
DUANE  RULISON, 

lB  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  states,  in  jssd 
for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


PHILADELPHIA  . 

STEREOTYPED  BY  S.  A.  GEOB«*. 
007  0AJSHOJM  STREET 


' ^ 
t/1 


V 

CO 


no 


%)'*> 


INTRODUCTION. 


Tiie  original  title  chosen  for  this  book  was  “Riches 
without  Wings;”  but  the  author  becoming  aware,  be- 
fore giving  it  a permanent  form,  that  a volume  bearing 
a similar  title  had  appeared  some  years  ago,  of  which 
a new  edition  was  about  to  be  issued,  thought  it  best 
to  substitute  therefor,  “True  Riches;  or,  Wealth  with- 
out Wings,”  which,  in  fact,  expresses  more  accurately 
the  character  and  scope  of  his  story. 

The  lessons  herein  taught  are  such  as  cannot  be 
learned  too  early,  nor  dwelt  on  too  long  or  too  often,  by 
those  who  are  engaged  in  the  active  and  all-absorbing 
duties  of  life.  In  the  struggle  for  natural  riches— the 
wealth  that  meets  the  eye  and  charms  the  imagination 
— how  many  forget  that  true  riche's  can  only  be  laid 
in  the  heart ; and  that,  without  these  true  riches,  which 
have  no  wings,  gold,  the  god  of  this  world,  cannot  be- 
stow a single  blessing ! To  give  this  truth  a varied 

charm  for  young  and  old,  the  author  has  made  of  it  a 

l * 5 


9374 1 2 


6 


INTRODUCTION. 


new  presentation,  and,  in  so  doing,  sought  to  invest  it 
with  all  the  winning  attractions  in  his  power  to  bestow. 

To  parents  who  regard  the  best  interests  of  their 
children,  and  to  young  men  and  women  just  stepping 
upon  the  world’s  broad  stage  of  action,  we  offer  our 
book,  in  the  confident  belief  that  it  contains  vital  prin- 
ciples, which,  if  laid  up  in  the  mind,  will,  like  good 
seed  in  good  ground,  produce  an  after-harvest,  in  tbs 
garnering  of  which  there  will  be  grc&fc  ioy. 


TRUE  RICHES 


CHAPTER  I. 

“A  Fair  day’s  business.  A very  fair  day’s 
business,”  said  Leonard  Jasper,  as  he  closed  a 
small  account-book,  over  which  he  had  been  poring, 
pencil  in  hand,  for  some  ten  minutes.  The  tone  in 
which  he  spoke  expressed  more  than  ordinary  gra- 
tification. 

66  To  what  do  the  sales  amount  ?”  asked  a young 
man,  clerk  to  the  dealer,  approaching  his  principal 
as  he  spoke. 

“ To  just  two  hundred  dollars,  Edward.  It’s  the 
best  day  we’ve  had  for  a month.” 

“ The  best,  in  more  than  one  sense,”  remarked 
the  young  man,  with  a meaning  expression. 

“ You’re  right  there,  too,”  said  Jasper,  with  ani 
mation,  rubbing  his  hands  together  as  he  spoke,  in 
the  manner  of  one  who  is  particularly  well  pleased 
with  himself.  “ I made  two  or  three  trades  that 
told  largely  on  the  sunny  side  of  profit  and  loss 
account.” 

“ True  enough.  Though  I’ve  been  afraid,  ever 
since  you  sold  that  piece  of  velvet  to  Harland’s 
wife,  that,  you  cut  rather  deeper  than  was  prudent.” 

7 


8 


true  riches;  or, 


“Not  a bit  of  it — not  a bit  of  it ! Had  I asfced 
her  three  dollars  a yard,  she  would  have  wanted  it 
for  two.  So  I said  six,  to  begin  with,,  expecting  to 
fall  extensively;  and,  to  put  a good  face  on  t lie 
matter,  told  her  that  it  cost  within  a fraction  of 
what  I asked  to  make  the  importation — remarking, 
at  the  same  time,  that  the  goods  were  too  rich  in 
ijuality  to  bear  a profit,  and  were  only  kept  as  a 
matter  of  accommodation  to  certain  customers.” 
“And  she  bought  at  five?” 

“Yes;  thinking  she  had  obtained  the  velvet  at 
seventy-five  cents  a yard  less  than  its  cost.  Gene- 
rous customer,  truly !” 

“ While  you,  in  reality,  made  two  dollars  and  a 
half  on  every  yard  she  bought.” 

“ Precisely  that  sum.” 

“ She  had  six  yards.” 

“ Yes ; out  of  which  we  made  a clear  profit  of 
fifteen  dollars.  That  will  do,  I’m  thinking.  Opera- 
tions like  this  count  up  fast.” 

“Very  fast.  But,  Mr.  Jasper” — — 

“ But  what,  Edward  ?” 

“Is  it  altogether  prudent  to  multiply  operations 
* of  this  character  ? Won’t  it  make  for  you  a had 
reputation,  and  thus  diminish,  instead  of  increasing, 
your  custom  ?” 

“ I fear  nothing  of  the  kind.  One-half  the  peo- 
ple are  not  satisfied  unless  you  cheat  them.  I’ve 
handled  the  yardstick,  off  and  on,  for  the  last  fif- 
teen or  twenty  years,  and  I think  my  observation 
luring  that  time  is  worth  something.  It  tells  me 
this — that  a bold  face,  a smooth  tongue,  and  an 
easy  conscience  are  worth  more  in  our  business  than 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


9 


any  other  qualities.  With  these  you  may  do  as  you 
list.  They  tell  far  better  than  all  the  6 one* price’ 
and  fair-dealing  professions,  in  which  people  have 
little  faith.  In  fact,  the  mass  will  overreach  if  they 
can,  and  therefore  regard  these  4 honest’  assump- 
tions with  suspicion.” 

The  young  man,  Edward  Claire,  did  not  make  a 
reply  for  nearly  a minute.  Something  in  the  words 
of  Mr.  Jasper  had  fixed  his  thought,  and  left  him, 
for  a brief  space  of  time,  absorbed  in  his  own 
reflections. 

Lifting,  at  length,  his  eyes,  which  had  been  rest- 
ing on  the  floor,  he  said — 

64  Our  profit  on  to-day’s  sales  must  reach  very 
nearly  fifty  dollars.” 

44  Just  that  sum,  if  I have  made  a right  estimate,” 
replied  Jasper  ; 44  and  that  is  what  I call  a fair  day’s 
business.” 

While  he  was  yet  speaking,  a lad  entered  the 
store,  and  laid  upon  the  counter  a small  sealed 
package,  bearing  the  superscription,  44  Leonard  Jas- 
per, Esq.”  The  merchant  cut  the  red  tape  with 
which  it  was  tied,  broke  the  seal,  and  opening  the 
package,  took  therefrom  several  papers,  over  which 
lie  ran  his  eyes  hurriedly ; his  clerk,  as  he  did  so, 
turning  away. 

44  What’s  this?”  muttered  Jasper  to  himself,  not 
at  first  clearly  comprehending  the  nature  of  the 
business  to  which  the  communication  related. 
“Executor!  To  what?  Oh!  ah!  Estate  of  Ruben 
Elder.  Ilumph!  What  possessed  him  to  trouble 
me  with  this  business  ? I’ve  no  time  to  play  execu- 
tor to  an  estate,  the  whole  proceeds  of  which  would 


10 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


hardly  fill  my  trousers’  pocket.  He  was  a thrift- 
less fellow  at  best,  and  never  could  more  than  keep 
his  head  out  of  water.  His  debts  will  swallow  up 
every  thing,  of  course,  saving  my  commissions, 
which  I would  gladly  throw  in  to  be  rid  of  this 
business.” 

With  this,  Jasper  tossed  the  papers  into  h*$  desk, 
and,  taking  up  his  hat,  said  to  his  clerk — 

“ You  may  shut  the  store,  Edward.  Before  you 
leave,  see  that  every  thing  is  made  safe.” 

The  merchant  than  retired,  and  wended  his  way 
homeward. 

Edward  Claire  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  follow  this 
example.  His  first  act  was  to  close  the  window- 
shutters  and  door — turning  the  key  in  the  latter, 
and  remaining  inside. 

Entirely  alone,  and  hidden  from  observation,  the 
young  man  seated  himself,  and  let  his  thoughts, 
which  seemed  to  be  active  on  some  subject,  take 
their  own  way.  He  was  soon  entirely  absorbed. 
Whatever  were  his  thoughts,  one  thing  would  have 
been  apparent  to  an  observer — they  did  not  run  in 
a quiet  stream.  Something  disturbed  their  current, 
for  his  brow  was  knit,  his  compressed  lips  had  a dis 
turbed  motion,  and  his  hands  moved  about  at  times 
uneasily.  At  length  he  arose,  not  hurriedly,  but 
with  a deliberate  motion,  threw7  his  arms  behind 
him,  and,  bending  forward,  with  his  eyes  cast  down, 
paced  the  length  of  the  store  two  or  three  times, 
backward  and  forward,  slowdy. 

u Fifty  dollars  profit  in  one  day,”  he  at  length 
said,  half  audibly.  “ That  will  do,  certainly.  I’d 
be  contented  with  a tenth  part  of  the  sum.  He’s 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS* 


11 


bound  to  get  rich;  that’s  plain.  Fifty  dollars  in  a 
single  day  ! Leonard  Jasper,  you’re  a shrewd  one. 
I shall  have  to  lay  aside  some  of  my  old-fashioned 
squeamishness,  and  take  a few  lessons  from  so  ac- 
complished a teacher.  But,  he’s  a downright 
cheat !” 

Some  better  thought  had  swept  suddenly,  in  a 
gleam  of  light,  across  the  young  man’s  mind,  show- 
ing him  the  true  nature  of  the  principles  from  which 
the  merchant  acted,  and,  for  the  moment,  causing 
his  whole  nature  to  revolt  against  them.  But  the 
light  faded  slowly ; a state  of  darkness  and  confrn 
sion  followed,  and  then  the  old  current  of  thought 
moved  on  as  before. 

Slowly,  and  now  with  an  attitude  of  deeper  ab- 
straction, moved  the  young  man  backward  and 
forward  the  entire  length  of  the  room,  of  which  h„ 
was  the  sole  occupant.  He  felt  that  he  was  alone, 
that  no  human  eye  could  note  a single  movement 
Of  the  all-seeing  Eye  he  thought  not — his  spirit’s 
evil  counsellors,  drawn  intimately  nigh  to  him 
through  inclinations  to  evil,  kept  that  consciousness 
from  his  mind. 

At  length  Claire  turned  to  the  desk  upon  which 
were  the  account-books  that  had  been  used  during 
the  day,  and  commenced  turning  the  leaves  of  one 
of  them  in  a way  that  showed  only  a half-formed 
purpose.  There  was  an  impulse  to  something  in 
his  mind ; an  impulse  not  yet  expressed  in  any  form 
of  thought,  though  in  the  progress  toward  some- 
thing definite. 

“ Fifty  dollars  a day!”  he  murmurs.  Ah,  that 
shows  the  direction  of  his  mind.  lie  is  still  strug- 


12 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


gling  in  temptation,  and  with  all  his  inherited 
cupidities  bearing  him  downward. 

Suddenly  he  starts,  turns  his  head,  and  listens 
eagerly,  and  with  a strange  agitation.  Some  one 
had  tried  the  door.  For  a few  moments  he  stood 
in  an  attitude  of  the  most  profound  attention.  But 
the  trial  was  not  repeated.  How  audibly,  to  his 
own  ears,  throbbed  his  heart ! How  oppressed  was 
his  bosom  ! How,  in  a current  of  fire,  rushed  the 
blood  to  his  over-excited  brain  ! 

The  hand  upon  the  door  was  but  an  ordinary  oc 
currence.  It  might  now  be  only  a customer,  who, 
seeing  a light  within,  hoped  to  supply  some  neglected 
want,  or  a friend  passing  by,  who  wished  for  a few 
words  of  pleasant  gossip.  At  any  other  time  Claire 
would  have  stepped  quickly  and  with  undisturbed 
expectation  to  receive  the  applicant  for  admission. 
But  guilty  thoughts  awakened  their  nervous  attend- 
ants, suspicion  and  fear,  and  these  had  sounded  an 
instant  alarm. 

. Still,  very  still,  sat  Edward  Claire,  even  to  the 
occasional  suppression  of  his  breathing,  which,  to 
him,  seemed  strangely  loud. 

Several  minutes  elapsed,  and  then  the  young  man 
commenced  silently  to  remove  the  various  account- 
books  to  their  nightly  safe  deposite  in  the  fire-proof. 
The  cash-box,  over  the  contents  of  wFich  he  lin- 
gered, counting  note  by  note  and  coin  by  coin,  seve- 
ral times  repeated,  next  took  its  place  with  the  books 
The  heavy  iron  door  swung  to,  the  key  traversed 
noiselessly  the  delicate  and  complicated  wards,  was 
removed  and  deposited  in  a place  of  safety;  and,  yet 
unrecovered  from  his  mood  of  abstraction,  the  clerk 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


13 


left  the  store,  and  took  his  way  homeward  From 
that  hour  Edward  Claire  was  to  be  the  subject  of  a 
fierce  temptation.  He  had  admitted  an  evil  sugges 
tion,  and  had  warmed  it  in  the  'earth  of  his  mind, 
even  to  germination.  Already  a delicate  root  had 
penetrated  the  soil,  and  was  extracting  food  there- 
from. Oh  ! wrhy  did  he  not  instantly  pluck  it  out, 
when  the  hand  of  an  infant  would  have  sufficed  in 
strength  for  the  task  ? Why  did  he  let  it  remain, 
shielding  it  from  the  cold  winds  of  rational^ truth 
and  the  hot  sun  of  good  affections,  until  it  could 
live,  sustained  by  its  owrn  organs  of  appropriation 
and  nutrition  ? Why  did  he  let  it  remain  until  its 
lusty  growth  gave  sad  promise  of  an  evil  tree,  in 
which  birds  of  night  find  shelter  and  build  nests 
for  their  young  ? 

Let  us  introduce  another  scene  and  another  per- 
sonage, who  will  claim,  to  some  extent,  the  reader’s 
attention. 

There  were  two  small  but  neatly,  though  plainly, 
furnished  rooms,  in  the  second  story  of  a house  lo- 
cated in  a retired  street.  In  one  of  these  rooms  tea 
was  prepared,  and  near  the  tea-table  sat  a young 
woman,  with  a sleeping  babe  nestled  to  her  bosom. 
She  was  fair-faced  and  sunny-haired ; and  in  her 
blue  eyes  lay,  in  calm  beauty,  sweet  tokens  of  a 
pure  and  loving  heart.  How  tenderly  she  looked 
down,  now  and  then,  upon  the  slumbering  cherub 
whose  winning  ways  and  murmurs  of  affection  had 
blessed  her  through  the  day  ! Happy  young  wife  ! 
these  are  thy  halcyon  days.  Care  has  not  thrown 
upon  thee  a single  shadow  from  his  gloomy  wing, 


14 


true  riches;  or, 


and  hope  pictures  the  smiling  future  with  a sky  of 
sunny  brightness. 

“ How  long  he  stays  away !”  had  just  passed  her 
lips,  wThen  the  sound  of  well-known  footsteps  was 
heard  in  the  passage  below.  A brief  time,  and 
then  the  room-door  opened,  and  Edward  Claire 
came  in.  What  a depth  of  tenderness  was  in  his 
voice  as  he  bent  his  lips  to  those  of  his  young  wife, 
murmuring — 

“My  Edith!”  and  then  touching,  with  a gentler 
pressure,  the  white  forehead  of  his  sleeping  babe. 

“You  were  late  this  evening,  dear,”  said  Edith, 
looking  into  the  face  of  her  husband,  whose  eyes 
drooped  under  her  earnest  gaze. 

“Yes,”  he  replied,  with  a slight  evasion  in  his 
tone  and  manner ; “ we  have  been  busier  than  usual 
to-day.” 

As  he  spoke  the  young  wife  arose,  and  taking 
her  slumbering  child  into  the  adjoining  chamber, 
laid  it  gently  in  its  crib.  Then  returning,  she  made 
the  tea — the  kettle  stood  boiling  by  the  grate — 
and  in  a little  while  they  sat  down  to  their  evening 
meal. 

Edith  soon  observed  that  her  husband  was  more 
tnoughtful  and  less  talkative  than  usual.  She 
asked,  however,  no  direct  question  touching  this 
change ; but  regarded  what  he  did  say  with  closer 
attention,  hoping  to  draw  a correct  inference,  with- 
out seeming  to  notice  his  altered  mood. 

“Mr.  Jasper’s  business  is  increasing?”  she  said, 
somewhat  interrogatively,  while  they  still  sat  at  the 
table,  an  ext  ression  of  her  husband’s  leading  to  this 
remark. 


/ 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


u 


“Yes,  increasing  very  rapidly,”  replied  Claire, 
with  animation.  “ The  fact  is,  he  is  going  to  get 
rich.  Do  you  know  that  his  profit  on  to-day  s sales 
amounted  to  fifty  dollars  ?” 

“ So  much  ?”  said  Edith,  yet  in  a tone  that  showed 
no  surprise  or  particular  interest  in  the  matter. 

“ Fifty  dollars  a day,”  resumed  Claire,  “ counting 
three  hundred  week-days  in  the  year,  gives  the 
handsome  sum  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars  in  the 
year.  I’d  be  satisfied  with  as  much  in  five  years.” 
There  was  more  feeling  in  the  tone  of  his  voice 
than  he  had  meant  to  betray.  His  young  wife  lifted 
her  eyes  to  his  face,  and  looked  at  him  with  a won- 
der she  could  not  conceal. 

“Contentment,  dear,”  said  she,  in  a gentle,  sub- 
dued, yet  tender  voice,  “is  great  gain.  We  have 
enough,  and  more  than  enough,  to  make  us  happy. 
Natural  riches  have  no  power  to  fill  the  heart’s  most 
yearning  affections ; and  how  often  do  they  take  to 
themselves  wings  and  fly  away.” 

“Enough,  dear  !”  replied  Edward  Claire,  smiling. 
“ 0 no,  not  enough,  by  any  means.  Five  hundred 
dollars  a year  is  but  a meagre  sum.  What  does  it 
procure  for  us  ? Only  these  two  rooms  and  the 
commonest  necessaries  of  life.  We  cannot  even  af- 
ford the  constant  service  of  a domestic.” 

“Why,  Edward!  what  has  come  over  you?  Have 
I complained  ?” 

“No,  dear,  no.  But  think  you  I have  no  ambi- 
tion to  see  my  wife  take  a higher  place  than  this  ?” 
“Ambition ! Do  not  again  use  that  word,”  said 
Edith,  very  earnestly.  “What  has  love  to  do  with 
ambition  ? What  have  we  to  do  with  the  world  and 


16 


TRUE  RICHES,  OR, 


its  higher  places  ? Will  a more  elegant  home  secure 
for  us  a purer  joy  than  we  have  known  and  still 
know  in  this  our  Eden  ? Oh,  my  husband  ! do  not 
let  such  thoughts  come  into  your  mind.  Let  us  be 
content  with  what  God  in  his  wisdom  provides,  as- 
sured that  it  is  best  for  us.  In  envying  the  good  of 
another,  we  destroy  our  own  good.  There  is  a 
higher  wealth  than  gold,  E lward;  and  it  supplies 
higher  wants.  There  are  riches  without  wings  ; 
they  lie  scattered  about  our  feet ; we  may  till  our 
coffers,  if  we  will.  Treasures  of  good  affections  and 
true  thoughts  are  worth  more  than  all  earthly 
riches,  and  will  bear  us  far  more  safely  and  happily 
through  the  world ; such  treasures  are  given  to  all 
who  will  receive  them,  and  given  in  lavish  abun- 
dance. Let  us  secure  of  this  wealth,  Edward,  a 
liberal  share:.” 

“ Mere  treasures  of  the  mind,  Edith,  do  not  sus- 
tain natural  life,  do  not  supply  natural  demands. 
They  build  no  houses ; they  provide  not  for  increas- 
ing wants.  We  cannot  always  remain  in  the  ideal 
world;  the  sober  realities  of  life  will  drag  us 
down.” 

The  simple-hearted,  true-minded  young  wife  was 
not  understood  by  her  husband.  She  felt  this,  ar.d 
felt  it  oppressively. 

u Have  we  not  enough,  Edward,  to  meet  every 
real  want?”  she  urged.  66  Do  we  desire  better  food 
or  better  clothing?  Would  our  bodies  te  more 
comfortable  because  our  carpets  were  of  richer  ma- 
terial, and  our  rooms  filled  with  costlier  furniture  ? 
0 no  ! If  not  contented  with  such  things  as  Pro- 
vidence gives  us  to  day,  we  shall  not  find  content- 


W E ALT  11  WIT  HOT  T WINGS. 


17 


ment  m what  he  gives  us  to-morrow;  for  the  sara# 
dissatisfied  heart  will  beat  in  our  bosoms.  Let  Mr. 
Jasper  get  rick,  if  he  can;  we  will  not  envy  his 
possessions.” 

“I  do  not  envy  him,  Edith,”  replied  Claire 
u But  I cannot  feel  satisfied  with  the  small  salary 
tie  pays  me.  My  services  are,  I know,  of  greater 
value  than  he  estimates  them.,  and  I feel  that  I am 
dealt  by  unjustly.” 

Edith  made  no  answer.  The  subject  was  repug- 
nant to  her  feelings,  and  she  did  not  wish  to  prolong 
it.  Claire  already  regretted  its  introduction.  So 
there  was  silence  for  nearly  a minute. 

When  the  conversation  flowed  on  again,  it  em- 
braced a different  theme,  but  had  in  it  no  warmth 
of  feeling.  Not  since  they  had  joined  hands  at  the 
altar,  nearly  two  years  before,  had  they  passed  so 
embarrassed  and  really  unhappy  an  evening  as  this. 
A tempting  spirit  had  found  its  way  into  their  Para- 
dise, burning  with  a fierce  desire  to  mar  its  beauty 


CHAPTER  II. 

u Oh,  what  a dream  I have  had !”  exclaimed  Mi'S 
Claire,  starting  suddenly  from  sleep,  just  as  the 
light  began  to  come  in  dimly  through  the  windows 
on  the  next  morning ; and,  as  she  spoke,  she 
caught  hold  of  her  husband,  and  clung  to  him. 
frightened  and  trembling. 


18 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


“Oh,  such  a dream!”  she  added,  as  her  mind 
grew  clearer,  and  she  felt  better  assured  of  the 
reality  that  existed.  “I  thought,  love,  that  we 
were  sitting  in  our  room,  as  we  sit  every  evening — 
baby  asleep,  I sewTing,  and  you,  as  usual,  reading 
aloud.  How  happy  w^e  were ! happier,  it  seemed, 
than  we  had  ever  been  before.  A sudden  loud 
knock  startled  us  both.  Then  two  men  entered, 
one  of  whom  drew  a paper  from  his  pocket,  declar- 
ing, as  he  did  so,  that  you  were  arrested  at  the  in- 
stance of  Mr.  Jasper,  wrho  accused  you  with  having 
robbed  him  of  a large  amount  of  money.” 

“ Why,  Edith  !”  ejaculated  Edward  Claire,  in  a 
voice  of  painful  surprise.  He,  too,  had  been  dream- 
ing, and  in  his  dream  he  had  done  what  his  heart 
prompted  him  to  do  on  the  previous  evening — to  act 
unfaithfully  toward  his  employer. 

“ Oh,  it  was  dreadful ! dreadful  1”  continued  Edith. 
“ Rudely  they  seized  and  bore  you  away.  Then  came 
the  trial.  Oh,  1 see  it  all  as  plainly  as  if  it  had 
been  real.  You,  my  good,  true,  noble-hearted  hus- 
band, who  had  never  wronged  another,  even  in 
thought — you  wrere  accused  of  robbery  in  the  pre- 
sence of  hundreds,  and  positive  witnesses  wTere 
brought  forward  to  prove  the  terrible  charge.  All 
they  alleged  was  believed  by  those  wTho  heard.  The 
judges  pronounced  you  guilty,  and  then  sentenced 
you  to  a gloomy  prison.  They  were  bearing  you 
off,  when,  in  my  agony,  I avroke.  It  was  terrible, 
terrible  ! yet,  thank  God ! only  a dream,  a fearful 
dream  !” 

Claire  drew  his  arms  around  his  young  wife,  and 
clasped  her  with  Retraining  embrace  to  his  bosom. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


1<J 


He  made  no  answer  for  some  time.  The  relation 
of  a dream  so  singular,  under  the  circumstances, 
had  startled  him,  and  he  almost  feared  to  trust  his 
voice  in  response.  At  length,  with  a leeply-drawn, 
sighing  breath,  nature’s  spontaneous  struggle  for 
relief,  he  said— 

“Yes,  dear,  that  was  a fearful  dream.  The 
thought  of  it  makes  me  shudder.  But,  after  all,  it 
was  only  a dream;  the  whispering  of  ^ malignant 
spirit  in  your  ear.  Happily,  his  power  to  harm 
extends  no  further.  The  fancy  may  be  possessed  in 
sleep,  but  the  reason  lies  inactive,  and  the  hands 
remain  idle.  No  guilt  can  stain  the  spirit.  The 
night  passes,  and  we  go  abroad  in  the  mprning  as 
pure  as  when  we  laid  our  heads  wearily  to  rest.” 

“And  more,”  added  Edith,  her  mind  fast  reco- 
vering itself ; “ with  a clearer  perception  of  what 
is  true  and  good.  The  soul’s  disturbed  balance 
finds  its  equilibrium.  It  is  not  the  body  alone  that 
is  refreshed  and  strengthened.  The  spirit,  plied 
with  temptation  after  temptation  through  the  day, 
and  almost  ready  to  yield  when  the  night  cometh, 
finds  rest  also,  and  time  to  recover  its  strength. 
In  the  morning  it  goes  forth  again,  stronger 
for  its  season  of  repose.  How  often,  as  the  day 
dawned,  have  I lifted  my  heart  and  thanked  God  „ 
for  sleep  !” 

Thus  prompted,  an  emotion  of  thankfulness  arose 
in  the  breast  of  Claire,  but  the  utterance  was  kept 
back  from  the  lips.  He  had  a secret,  a painful  and 
revolting  secret,  in  his  heart*  and  he  feared  lest 
something  should  betray  its  existence  to  his  wife. 
What  would  he  not  have  given  at  the  moment  to 


20 


true  riciies;  or, 


have  blotted  out  for  ever  the  memory  of  thoughts 
too  earnestly  cherished  on  the  evening  before,  when 
he  was  alone  with  the  tempter  ? 

There  was  a shadow  on  the  heart  of  Edith  Claire. 

' The  unusual  mood  of  her  husband  on  the  previous 
evening,  and  the  dream  which  had  haunted  her 
through  the  night,  left  impressions  that  could  not 
be  shaken  off.  She  had  an  instinct  of  danger — 
danger  lurking  in  the  path  of  one  in  whom  her  very 
life  was  bound  up. 

When  Edward  was  about  leaving  her  to  go  forth 
for  the  day,  she  lingered  by  his  side  and  clung  to 
him,  as  if  she  could  not  let  him  pass  from  the  safe 
shelter  of  home. 

“ Ah ! if  I could  always  be  with  you  !”  said  Edith 
— “if  we  .could  ever  move  on,  hand  in  hand  and 
side  by  side,  how  full  to  running  over  would  be  my 
cup  of  happiness !” 

“Are  we  not  ever  side  by  side,  dear?”  replied 
Claire,  tenderly.  “ You  are  present  to  my  thought 
all  the  day.” 

“ And  you  to  mine.  0 yes  ! yes  ! We  are  mov- 
ing side  by  side ; our  mutual  thought  gives  presence. 
Yet  it  was  the  bodily  presence  I desired.  But  that 
cannot  be.” 

“ Good-bye,  love  ! Good-bye,  sweet  one  !”  said 
Claire,  kissing  his  wife,  and  gently  pressing  his  lips 
upon  those  of  the  babe  she  held  in  her  arms,  lie 
then  passed  forth,  and  took  his  way  to  the  store  of 
Leonard  Jasper,  in  whose  service  he  had  leen  for 
two  years,  or  since  the  date  of  his  marriage. 

A scene  transpired  a few  days  previous  to  this, 
which  we  will  briefly  describe.  Three  persons  were 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


21 


alone  in  a chamber,  the  furniture  of  which,  though 
neither  elegant  nor  costly,  evinced  taste  and  refine- 
ment. Lying  upon  a bed  was  a man,  evidently  near 
the  time  of  his  departure  from  earth.  By  his  side, 
and  bending  over  him,  was  a woman  almost  as  pale 
as  himself.  A little  girl,  not  above  five  years  of 
age,  sat  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  countenance  of  her  father,  for  such  was  the 
relation  borne  to  her  by  the  sick  man.  A lovely 
creature  she  was— beautiful  even  beyond  the  com- 
mon beauty  of  childhood.  For  a time  a solemn 
stillness  reigned  through  the  chamber.  A few  low- 
spoken  words  had  passed  between  the  parents  of  the 
child,  and  then,  for  a brief  period,  all  was  deep,  op- 
pressive silence.  This  was  interrupted,  at  length, 
by  the  mother’s  unrestrained  sobs,  as  she  laid  her 
face  upon  the  bosom  of  her  husband,  so  soon  to  be 
taken  from  her,  and  wept  aloud. 

No  word  of  remonstrance  or  comfort  came  from 
the  sick  man’s  lips.  He  only  drew  his  arm  about 
the  weeper’s  neck,  and  held  her  closer  to  his  heart. 

The  troubled  waters  soon  ran  clear : there  was 
calmness  in  their  depths. 

44  It  is  but  for  a little  while,  Fanny,”  said  he,  in 
a feeble  yet  steady  voice ; 44  only  for  a little 

while.” 

44 1 know;  I feel  that  here,”  was  replied,  as  a 
thin,  white  hand  was  laid  against  the  speaker’s 
bosom.  44  And  I could  patiently  await  my  time, 
but*’— 

Her  eyes  glanced  yearningly  toward  the  child, 
who  sat  gazing  upon  her  parents,  with  an  instinct 
of  approaching  evil  at  her  heart. 


f>o 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


Too  well  did  the  dying  man  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  this  glance. 

“ God  will  take  care  of  her.  He  will  raise  her 
up  friends,”  said  he  quickly;  yet,  even  as  he  spoke, 
his  heart  failed  him. 

“ All  that  is  left  to  us  is  our  trust  in  Him,”  mur- 
mured the  wife  and  mother.  Her  voice,  though  so 
low  as  to  be  almost  a whisper,  was  firm.  She  real- 
ised, as  she  spoke,  how  much  of  bitterness  was  in 
the  parting  hours  of  the  dying  one,  and  she  felt 
that  duty  required  her  to  sustain  him,  so  far  as  she 
had  the  strength  to  do  so.  And  so  she  nerved  her 
woman’s  heart,  almost  breaking  as  it  was,  to  bea” 
and  hide  her  own  sorrows,  while  she  strove  to 
comfort  and  strengthen  the  failing  spirit  of  her 
husband. 

“ God  is  good,”  said  she,  after  a brief  silenee, 
during  whichshe  was  striving  for  the  mastery  over 
her  weakness.  As. she  spoke,  she  leaned  over  the 
sick  man,  and  looked  at  him  lovingly,  and  with  tfr 
smile  of  an  angel  on  her  counteance. 

“ Yes,  God  is  good,  Fanny.  Have  we  not  proved 
this,  again  and  again  ?”  was  returned,  a feeble  light 
coming  into  the  speaker’s  pale  face. 

“ A thousand  times,  dear ! a thousand  times !” 
said  the  wife,  earnestly.  “ He  is  infinite  in  his  good- 
ness, and  we  are  his  children.” 

“Yes,  his  children,”  was  the rvhispered  response. 
And  over  and  over  again  he  repeated  the  words, 
“His  children;”  his  voice  falling  lower  and  lower 
each  time,  until  at  length  his  eyes  closed,  and  his 
in-going  thought  found  no  longer  an  utterance. 

Twilight  had  come.  The  deepening  shadows  were 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


23 


fast  obscuring  all  objects  in  the  sick-chamber,  where 
silence  reigned,  profound  almost  as  death. 

“He  sleeps,”  whispered  the  wife,  as  she  softly 
raised  herself  from  her  reclining  position  on  the 
bed.  “And  dear  Fanny  sleeps  also,”  was  added, 
as  her  eyes  rested  upon  the  unconscious  form  of  her 
child. 

Two  hours  later,  and  the  last  record  was  made  in 
Ruben  Elder’s  Book  of  Life. 

For  half  an  hour  before  the  closing  scene,  his 
mind  was  clear,  and  he  then  spoke  calmly  of  what 
he  had  done  for  those  who  were  to  remain  behind. 

“To  Leonard  Jasper,  my  old  friend,”  said  he  to 
his  wife,  “ I have  left  the  management  of  my  affairs. 
He  will  see  that  every  thing  is  done  for  the  best. 
There  is  not  much  property,  yet  enough  to  insure  a 
small  income ; and,  when  you  follow  me  to  the  bet- 
ter land,  sufficient  for  the  support  and  education  of 
our  child.” 

Peacefully,  after  this,  he  sank  away,  and,  like  a 
weary  child  falling  into  slumber,  slept  that  sleep 
from  which  the  awakening  is  in  another  world. 

How  Leonard  Jasper  received  the  announcement 
of  his  executorship  has  been  seen.  The  dying  man 
had  referred  to  him  as  an  old  friend ; hut,  as  the 
reader  has  already  concluded,  there  was  little  room 
m his  sordid  heart  for  so  pure  a sentiment  as  that 
ol  friendship.  He,  however,  lost  no  time  in  ascer- 
taining the  amount  of  property  left  by  Elder,  which 
consisted  of  two  small  houses  in  the  city,  and  a bar- 
ren tract  of  about  sixty  acres  of  land,  somewhere  in 
Pennsylvania,  which  had  been  taken  for  a debt  of 
five  hundred  dollars.  In  view  of  his  death.  Elder 


24 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


had  wound  up  his  business  some  months  befon  , paid 
off  what  he  owed,  and  collected  in  nearly  all  out- 
standing accounts ; so  that  little  work  remained  for 
his  executor,,  except  to  dispose  of  the  unprofitable 
tract  of  land  and  invest  the  proceeds. 

On  the  day  following  the  opening  of  our  story, 
Jasper,  who  still  felt  annoyed  at  the  prospect  of 
more  trouble  than  profit  in  the  matter  of  his  execu- 
torship, made  a formal  call  upon  the  widow  of  his 
old  friend. 

The  servant,  to  whom  he  gave  his  name,  stated 
that  Mrs.  Elder  was  so  ill  as  not  to  be  able  to  leave 
her  room. 

u I will" call  again,  then,  in  a few  days,”  said  he. 
“ Be  sure  you  give  her  my  name  correctly.  Mr. 
Jasper — Leonard  Jasper.” 

The  face  of  the  servant  wore  a troubled  aspect. 

46  She  is  very  sick,  sir,”  said  she,  in  a worried, 
hesitating  maimer.  “ Won’t  you  take  a seat,  for  a 
moment,  until  I go  up  and  tell  her  that  you  are  here  ? 
Maybe  she  would  like  to  see  you.  I think  I heard 
her  mention  your  name  a little  while  ago.” 

Jasper  sat  down,  and  the  domestic  left  the  room. 
She  was  gone  but  a short  time,  when  she  returned 
and  said  that  Mrs.  Elder  wished  to  see  him.  Jasper 
arose  and  followed  her  up-stairs.  There  were  some 
strange  misgivings  in  his  heart — some  vague,  trou- 
bled anticipations,  that  oppressed  his  feelings.  But 
he  had  little  time  for  thought  ere  he  was  ushered 
into  the  chamber  of  his  friend’s  widow. 

A single  glance  sufficed  tp  tell  him  the  whole  sad 
truth  of  the  ease.  There  was  no  room  for  mistake. 
The  bright,  glazed  eyes,  the  rigid,  colourless  lips, 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINC5S. 


2d 


the  ashen  countenance,  all  testified  that  the  hour  of 
her  departure  drew  nigh.  IIow  strong,  we  had 
almost  said,  how  beautiful,  was  the  contrasted  form 
and  features  of  her  lovely  child,  whose  face,  so  full 
. life  and  rosy  health,  pressed  the  same  pillow  "hat 
supported  her  weary  head. 

Feebly  the  dying  woman  extended  her  hand,  as 
Mr.  Jasper  came  in,  saying,  as  she  did  so — - 

u I am  glad  you  have  come ; I was  about  sending 
for  you.” 

A slight  tremor  of  the  lips  accompanied  her 
words,  and  it  was  plain  that  the  presence  of  Jasper, 
whose  relation  to  her  and  her  child  she  understood 
caused  a wave  of  emotion  to  sweep  over  her  heart. 

“ I am  sorry,  Mrs.  Elder,  to  find  you  so  very  ill/ 
said  Jasper,  with  as  much  of  sympathy  in  his  voic« 
as  he  could  command.  “ Has  your  physician  been 
here  to-day  ?” 

“It  is  past  that,  sir — past  that,”  was  replied. 
“ There  is  no  further  any  hope  for  me  in  the  phy- 
sician’s art.” 

A sob  choked  all  further  utterance. 

How  oppressed  was  the  cold-hearted,  selfish  man 
of  the  world  ! His  thoughts  were  all  clouded,  and 
his  lips  for  a time  sealed.  As  the  dying  woman 
said,  so  he  felt  that  it  was.  The  time  of  her  depar- 
ture had  come.  An  instinct  of  self- protection— 
protection  for  his  feelings — caused  him,  after  a few 
moments,  to  say,  and  he  turned  partly  from  the  bed 
as  he  spoke — 

“ Some  of  your  friends  should  be  with  you,  ma- 
'am, at  this  time.  Let  me  go  for  them.  Have  you 
a.  sister  or  near  relative  in  the  city?” 


26 


TRUE  RICHES  ; OR, 


The  words  and  movement  of  Mr.  Jasper  restored 
at  once  the  conscious  self-possession  of  the  dying 
mother,  and  she  raised  herself  partly  up  wTith  a 
quick  motion,  and  a gleam  of  light  in  her  counte- 
nance. 

“ Oh,  sir,”  she  said  eagerly,  “ do  not  go  yet.  I 

have  no  sister,  no  near  relative ; none  but  you  to 

whom  I can  speak  my  last  words  and  give  my  last 

injunction.  You  were  my  husband’s  friend  while  he 

lived,  and  to  you  has  he  committed  the  care  of  his 

widow  and  orphan.  I am  called,  alas,  too  soon  ! to 

follow  him  ; and  now,  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  in 

the  presence  of  his  spirit — for  I feel  that  he  is  near 

us  now — I commit  to  you  the  care  of  this  dear 

«/ 

child.  Oh,  sir  ! be  to  her  as  a father.*  Love  her 
tenderly,  and  care  for  her  as  if  she  were  your  own. 
Her  heart  is  rich  with  affection,  and  upon  you  will 
its  treasures  be  poured  out.  Take  her  ! take  her  as 
your  own  ! Here  I give  to  you,  in  this  the  solemn 
hour  of  my  departure,  that  which  to  me  is  above  all 
price.” 

And  as  she  said  this,  with  a suddenly  renewed 
strength,  she  lifted  the  child,  and,  ere  Jasper  could 
check  the  movement,  placed  her  in  his  arms.  Then, 
with  one  long,  eager,  clinging  kiss  pressed  upon  the 
lips  of  that  child,  she  sank  backward  on  the  bed ; 
and  life,  which  had  flashed  up  brightly  for  a m*>- 
ment,  went  out  in  this  world  for  ever 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS 


27 


CHAPTER  III. 

Leonard  Jasper  would  have  been  less  than  hu- 
man had  he  borne  such  an  assault  upon  his  feelings 
without  emotion;  less  than  human  had  his  heart 
instantly  and  spontaneously  rejected  the  dying  mo- 
ther’s wildly  eloquent  appeal.  He  was  bewildered, 
startled,  even  deeply  moved. 

The  moment  he  could,  with  propriety  and  a decent 
regard  for  appearances,  get  away  from  the  house 
where  he  had  witnessed  so  painful  a scene,  he  re- 
turned to  his  place  of  business  in  a sobered,  thought- 
ful state  of  mind.  He  had  not  anticipated  so  direct  a 
guardianship  of  Ruben  Elder’s  child  as  it  was  evident 
would  now  devolve  upon  him,  in  consequence  of  the 
mother’s  death.  Here  was  to  be  trouble  for  him 
this  was  his  feeling  so  soon  as  there  was  a little  time 
for  reaction — and  trouble  without  profit.  He  would 
have  to  take  upon  himself  the  direct  charge  of  the 
little  girl,  and  duly  provide  for  her  maintenance  and 
education. 

“ If  there  is  property  enough  for  this,  well  and 
good,”  he  muttered  to  himself;  he  had  not  yet  be- 
come acquainted  with  the  real  state  of  affairs.  4 ’If 
not,”  he  added;  firmly,  “the  loss  will  be  hers;  that 
is  ail.  I shall  have  sufficient  trouble  and  annoy- 
ance, without  being  put  to  expense.”. 

For  some  time  after  his  return  to  his  store,  Jasper 
refrained  from  entering  upon  any  business.  During 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


28 


at  least  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  he  sat  at  his  desk, 
completely  absorbed  in  thought.  At  length  he  called 
to  Edward  Claire,  his  principal  clerk,  and  said  that 
he  wished  to  speak  a few  words  with  him.  The 
young  man  came  back  from  the  counter  to  where 
he  was  sitting,  wondering  what  had  produced  the 
very  .apparent  change  in  his  employer’s  state  of 
mind. 

“ Edward,”  said  Mr.  Jasper,  in  a low,  serious 
voice,  “ there  is  a little  matter  that  I must  get  you  to 
attend  to  for  me.  It  is  not  very  pleasant,  it  is  true ; 
though  nothing  more  than  people  are  required  to  do 
every  day.  You  remember  Mr.  Elder,  Ruben  El- 
der, who  formerly  kept  store  in  Second  street?” 

“ Very  well.” 

“ He  died  last  week.” 

“ I noticed  his  death  in  the  papers.” 

“He  has  appointed  me  his  executor.” 

“Ah?” 

“Yes;  and  I wish  to  my  heart  he  had  appointed 
somebody  else.  I’ve  too  much  business  of  my  own 
to  attend  to.” 

“ Of  course,”  said  Claire,  “ you  will  receive  your 
regular  commissions  for  attending  to  the  settlement 
of  his  estate.” 

“ Poor  picking  there,”  replied  Jasper,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  “ I’d  very  cheerfully  give  up  the 
profit  to  be  rid  of  the  trouble.  But  that  doesn’t 
signify  now.  Elder  has  left  his  affairs  in  my  hands, 
and  I must  give  them  at  least  some  attention.  I’m 
not  coming  to  the  point,  however.  A little  while 
ago  I witnessed  the  most  painful  scene  that  evei 
fell  under  my  eyes.” 


WEALTH  WITHC  LIT  WINGS. 


29 


“ Ah !” 

“ Yes,  truly.  Ugh!  It  makes  the  drills  creep 
over  me  as  I think  of  it.  Last  evening  I received 
regular  notification  of  my  appointment  as  executor 
to  Elder’s  estate,  and  to-day  thought  it  only  right 
to  call  upon  the  widow,  and  see  if  any  present  ser- 
vice were  needed  by  the  family.  Such  a scene  as  I 
encountered  ! Mrs.  Elder  was  just  at  the  point  of 
death,  and  expired  a few  moments  after  my  entrance. 
Besides  a single  domestic  and  a child,  I was  the  only 
witness  of  her  last  extremity.” 

“ Shopking !” 

“ You  may  well  say  shocking,  Edward,  unpre- 
pared as  I was  for  such  an  occurrence.  My  nerves 
are  quivering  yet,” 

“ Then  the  widow  is  dead  also  ?” 

“ Yes  ; both  have  gone  to  their  long  home.” 

“ How  many  childen  are  left  ?” 

“ Only  one— -a  little  girl,  not,  I should  think, 
above  four  years  of  age.” 

“ Some  near  relative  will,  I presume,  take  charge 
of  her.” 

“ In  dying,  the  mother  declared  that  she  had  no 
friend  to  whom  she  could  leave  the  child.  On  me, 
therefore,  devolves  the  care  of  seeing  to  its  main- 
tenance.” 

uNo  friend.  Poor  child!  and  of  so  tender  an  age !” 
“ She  is  young,  certainly,  to  be  left  alone  in  the 
world.” 

Jasper  uttered  these  words,  but  felt  nothing  of  the 
sad  meaning  they  involved. 

“ What  disposition  will  you  make  of  her  ?”  asked 
Claire, 

3* 


30 


TRUE  RICHES  ; OR, 


“ I’ve  had  no  time  to  think  of  that  yet.  Other 
matters  are  first  to  be  regarded.  So  let  me  come  to 
the  point.  Mrs.  Elder  is  dead ; and,  as  far  as  I 
could  see,  there  is  no  living  soul,  beyond  a fright- 
' ened  servant,  to  do  any  thing.  Whether  she  will 
have  the  presence  of  mind  to  call  in  the  neighbours, 
is  more  than  I can  say.  I left  in  the  bewilderment 
of  the  moment;  and  now  remember  me  that  some- 
thing is  to  be  done  for  the  dead.  Will  you  go  to 
the  house,  and  see  what  is  needed  ? In  the  next 
block  is  an  undertaker ; you  had  better  call,  on 
your  way,  and  ask  him  to  go  with  you.  All  arrange- 
ments necessary  for  the  funeral  can  be  left  in  his 
hands.  Just  take  this  whole  matter  off  of  me,  Ed- 
ward, and  I will  be  greatly  obliged  to  you.  I have 
a good  many  things  on  my  mind,  that  must  receive 
close  attention.” 

The  young  man  offered  no  objection,  although  the 
service  was  far  from  being  agreeable.  On  his  return, 
after  the  absence  of  an  hour,  Jasper  had,  of  course, 
many  inquiries  to  make.  Claire  appeared  serious. 
The  fact  was,  he  had  seen  enough  to  touch  his  feel- 
ings deeply.  The  grief  of  the  orphaned  child,  as  he 
was  a witness  thereto,  had  brought  tears  upon  his 
cheeks,  in  spite  of  every  manly  effort  to  restrain 
them.  Her  extreme  beauty  struck  him  at  the  first 
glance,  even  obscured  as  it  was  under  a vail  of  sor- 
row and  weeping. 

a There  were  several  persons  in,  you  say?”  re- 
marked Jasper,  after  Claire  had  related  a number 
of  particulars. 

“ Yes,  three  or  four.” 

“ Ladies,  of  course?” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINOS. 


31 


•‘Yes.” 

“ Did  any  of  them  propose  to  take  the  child  home 
with  them?” 

“Not  directly.  One  woman  asked  me  a number 
of  questions  about  the  little  girl.” 

“ Of  what  nature  ?” 

“ As  to  whether  there  were  any  relatives  or  par- 
ticular friends  who  would  take  charge  of  her?” 

66  And  you  told  her  there  were  none  ?” 

“Yes;  none  of  whom  I had  any  knowledge.” 
“Well  ? What  had  she  to  say  to  that  ?” 

“ She  wanted  to  know  if  there  would  be  any  thing 
for  the  child’s  support.  'I  said  that  there  would,  in 
all  probability.” 

“Well?” 

“ Then  she  gave  me  to  understand,  that  if  no  on^ 
took  the  child,  she  might  be  induced  to  board  her 
for  a while,  until  other  arrangements  were  made.” 
“Did  you  give  her  to  understand  that  this  was 
practicable  ?” 

“No,  sir.” 

“ Why  not  ? She  will  have  to  be  boarded,  you 
know.” 

“I  neither  liked  the  woman’s  face,  manner,  nor 
appearance.” 

“Why  not?” 

“ Oh,  she  was  a vulgar,  coarse,  hard-looking  crea- 
ture to  my  eyes.” 

“ Kind  hearts  often  lie  concealed  under  unpro- 
mising externals.” 

“ True ; but  they  lie  not  concealed  under  that 
exterior,  be  well  assured,  Mr.  Jasper.  No,  no.  The 
vuild  who  has  met  with  so  sad  a loss  as  that  of  a 


32 


TRUE  RICHES  ; OR, 


mother,  needs  the  tenderest  guardianship.  At  best, 
the  case  is  hard  enough.” 

Jasper  did  not  respond  to  this  humane  sentiment, 
for  there  was  no  pity  in  him.  The  waves  of  feeling, 
stirred  so  suddenly  a few  hours  before,  had  all  sub- 
sided, and  the  surface  of  his  heart  bore  no  ripple  of 
emotion.  He  thought  not  of  the  child  as  an  object 
claiming  his  regard,  but  as  a trouble  and  a hinder- 
ance  thrown  in  his  way,  to  be  disposed  of  as  summa- 
rily as  possible. 

“ I’m  obliged  to  you,  Edward,  for  the  trouble  you 
have  taken  in  my  stead,”  he  remarked,  after  a slight 
pause.  “ To-morrow,  I may  wish  you  to  call  there 
again.  Of  course,  the  neighbours  will  give  needful 
attention  until  the  funeral  takes  place.  By  that 
time,  perhaps,  the  child  will  have  made  a friend  of 
some  one  of  them,  and  secure,  through  this  means, 
a home  for  the  present.  It  is,  for  us,  a troublesome 
business  at  best,  though  it  will  soon  be  over.” 

A person  coming  in  at  the  moment,  Claire  left  „ 
his  employer  to  attend  at  the  counter.  The  new 
customer,  it  was  quickly  perceived  by  the  clerk,  was 
one  who  might  readily  be  deceived  into  buying  the 
articles  for  which  she  inquired,  at  a rate  far  in  ad- 
vance of  their  real  value ; and  he  felt  instantly, 
tempted  to  ask  her  a very  high  price.  Readily,  for 
it  was  but  acting  from  habit,  did  he  yield  to  this 
temptation.  His  success  was  equal  to  his  wishes. 
The  woman,  altogether  unsuspicious  of  the  cheat 
practised  upon  her,  paid  for  her  purchases  the  sum 
of  ten  dollars  above  their  true  value.  She  lingered 
a short  time  after  settling  her  bill,  and  made  some 
observation  upon  a current  topic  of  the  day.  One 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


3, 


bv  two  casually-uttered  sentiments  did  not  fall  like 
refreshing  dew  upon  the  feelings  of  Claire,  but 
rather  stung  him  like  words  of  sharp  rebuke,  and 
made  him  half  regret  the  wrong  he  had  done  to  her. 
He  felt  relieved  when  she  retired. 

It  so  happened  that,  while  this  customer  was  in, 
Jasper  left  the  store.  Soon  after,  a clerk  went  to 
dinner.  Only  a lad  remained  with  Claire,  and  he 
was  sent  up-stairs  to  arrange  some  goods. 

The  hour  of  temptation  had  again  come,  and  the 
young  man’s  mind  was  overshadowed  by  the  powers 
of  darkness. 

u Ten  dollars  clear  gain  on  that  transaction,’ 1 said 
he  to  himself,  as  he  drew  open  the  money-drawer  in 
which  he  had  deposited  the  cash  paid  to  him  by  his 
late  customer. 

For  some  time  his  thoughts  were  busy,  while  his 
fingers  toyed  with  the  gold  and  bills  in  the  drawer. 
Two  five-dollar  pieces  were  included  in  the  payment 
. just  received. 

“Jasper,  surely,  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  one  of 
these.”  Thus  he  began  to  argue  with  himself.  “I 
drove  the  bargain ; am  I not  entitled  to  a fair  pro- 
portion of  the  profit  ? It  strikes  me  so.  What 
wrong  will  it  be  to  him  ? Wrong  ? Humph ! 
Wrong?  The  wrong  has  been  done  already;  but 
it  falls  not  on  his  head. 

“ If  I am  to  do  this  kind  of  work  for  him,” — the 
feelings  of  Claire  now  commenced  running  in  a more 
disturbed  channel ; there  were  deep  contractions  on 
his  forehead,  and  his  lips  were  shut  firmly, — “ this 
kind  of  wTork,  I must  have  a share  of  the  benefit. 


34 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


If  I am  to  sell  my  soul,  Leonard  Jasper  shall  not 
have  the  whole  price.” 

Deliberately,  as  he  spoke  this  within  himself,  lid 
Claire  take  from  the  drawer  a five-dollar  gold  piece, 
' and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 

“Mine,  not  his,”  were  the  words  with  which  he 
approved  the  act.  At  the  same  instant  Jasper  en- 
tered. The  young  man's  heart  gave  a sudden  bound, 
and  there  was  guilt  in  his  face,  but  Jasper  did  not 
read  its  true  expression. 

“ Well,  Edward,”  said  he,  cheerfully,  “what  luck 
did  you  have  with  the  old  lady?  Did  she  make  a 
pretty  fair  bill'?” 

“ So-so,”  returned  Claire,  with  affected  indiffer- 
ence; “about  thirty  dollars.” 

“Ah  ! so  much  ?” 

“ Yes  ; and,  what  is  better,  I made  her  pay  pretty 
strong.  She  was  from  the  country.” 

“ That’ll  do.”  And  Jasper  rubbed  his  hands  to- 
gether energetically.  “ How  much  over  and  above 
a fair  percentage  did  you  get  ?” 

“About  five  dollars.” 

“ Good,  again  ! You’re  a trump,  Edward.” 

If  Edward  Claire  was  relieved  to  find  that  no 
suspicion  had  been  awakened  in  the  thoughts  of 
Jasper,  he  did  not  feel  very  strongly  flattered  by 
his  approving  words.  The  truth  was,  at  the  very 
moment  he  was  relating  what  he  had  done,  there 
came  into  his  mind,  with  a most  startling  distinct- 
ness, the  dream  of  his  wife,  and  the  painful  feelings 
it  had  occasioned. 

“ What  folly  ! What  madness  ! Whither  am  I 
going  ?” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


35 


These  were  his  thoughts  now,  horn  of  a quick  re- 
vulsion of  feeling. 

“ It  is  your  dinner-time,  Edward.  Get  back  as 
scon  as  possible.  I want  to  be  home  a little  earlier 
than  usual  to-day.’ ’ 

Thus  spoke  Mr.  Jasper ; and  the  young  man, 
taking  up  his  hat,  left  the  store.  He  had  never  felt 
so  strangely  in  his  life.  The  first  st'ep  in  crime  had 
been  taken ; he  had  fairly  entered  the  downward 
road  to  ruin.  Where  was  it  all  to  end?  Placing 
his  fingers,  almost  without  thought,  in  his  pocket, 
they  came  in  contact  with  the  gold-piece  obtained 
by  a double  crime — the  robbery  both  of  a customer 
and  his  employer.  Quickly,  as  if  he  had  touched  a 
living  coal,  was  the  hand  of  Claire  withdrawn,  while 
a low  chill  crept  along  his  nerves.  It  required  some 
resolution  for  the  young  man  to  meet  his  pure- 
hearted,  clear-minded  wife,  whose  quick  intuitions 
of  good  or  evil  in  others  he  had  over  and  over  again 
been  led  to  remark.  Once,  as  he  moved  along,  he 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  with  the  suddenly* 
formed  purpose  of  casting  the  piece  of  money  from 
him,  and  thus  cancelling  his  guilt.  But,  ere  the 
act  was  accomplished,  he  remembered  that  in  this 
there  would  be  no  restoration,  and  so  refrained. 

Edward  Claire  felt,  while  in  the  presence  of  his 
young  wife,  that  she  often  looked  into  his  face  with 
more  than  usual  earnestness.  This  not  only  embar- 
rassed but  sligiitly  fretted  him,  and  led  him  to  speak 
once  in  a way  that  brought  tears  to  her  eyes. 

Not  a minute  longer  than  necessary  did  Claire 
remain  at  home.  The  fact  that  his  employer  had 
desired  him  to  return  to  the  store  as  quickly  as  pos* 


86 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


sible,  was  an  all-sufficient  reason  for  his  unusual 
hurry  to  get  away. 

The  moment  the  door  closed  upon  him,  his  wife 
burst  into  tears.  On  her  bosom  lay  a most  oppres- 
sive weight,  and  in  her  mind  was  a vague,  troubled 
sense  of  approaching  evil.  She  felt  that  there  was 
danger  in  the  path  of  her  husband ; but  of  its  na- 
ture she  could  divine  little  or  nothing.  All  day 
her  dream  had  haunted  her ; and  now  it  reproduced 
itself  in  her  imagination  with  painful  distinctness. 
Vainly  she  strove  to  drive  it  from  her  thoughts;  it 
ould  not  be  gone.  Slowly  the  hours  wore  on  for 
her,  until  the  deepening  twilight  brought  the  period 
when  her  husband  was  to  return  again.  To  this 
return  her  mind  looked  forward  with  an  anxiety 
that  could  not  be  repressed. 

The  dreaded  meeting  with  his  wife  over,  Claire 
thought  with  less  repugnance  of  what  he  had  done, 
and  was  rather  inclined  to  justify  than  condemn 
himself. 

“ It’s  the  way  of  the  world,”  so  he  argued ; “ and 
unless  I do  as  the  world  does,  I must  remain  where 
I am — at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder.  But  why  should 
I stay  below,  while  all  around  me  are  struggling  up- 
ward? As  for  what  preachers  and  moralists  call 
strictly  fair  dealiug,  it  may  be  all  well  enough  in 
theory,  pleasant  to  talk  abc  ut,  and  all  that ; but  it 
won’t  do  in  practice,  as  the  world  now  is.  Where 
each  is  grasping  all  that  he  can  laj  his  hands  on, 
fair  or  foul,  one  must  scramble  with  the  rest,  or  get 
nothing.  That  is  so  plain  that  none  can  deny  the 
proposition.  So,  Edward  Claire,  if  you  wish  to  rise 
above  your  present  poor  condition,  if  you  wish  to 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


37 


get  rich,  like  your  enterprising  neighbours,  you 
must  do  as  they  do.  If  I go  in  for  a lamb,  I might 
as  well  take  a sheep : the  morality  of  the  thing  is 
the  same.  If  I take  a large  slice  off  of  a customer, 
why  shall  not  a portion  of  that  slice  be  mine;  ay, 
the  whole  of  it,  if  I choose  to  make  the  appropria- 
tion ? All  Jasper  can  fairly  ask,  is  a reasonable 
profit:  if  I,  by  my  address,  get  more  than  this, 
surely  I may  keep  a part  thereof.  Who  shall  say 

9 i ? 

nay-  . . . 

Justifying  himself  by  these  and  similar  false  rea- 
sonings, the  young  man  thrust  aside  the  better  sug- 
gestions, from  which  he  was  at  first  inclined  to  re- 
trace the  false  step  he  had  taken  ; and  wilfully  shut- 
ting his  eyes,  resolved  to  go  forward  in  his  evil  and 
dangerous  course. 

During  the  afternoon  of  that  day  a larger  num- 
ber of  customers  than  usual  were  in,  and  Claire  was 
very  busily  occupied.  He  made  three  or  four  large 
sales,  and  was  successful  in  getting  several  dollars 
in  excess  of  fair  profit  from  one  not  very  well  skilled 
in  prices.  In  making  an  entry  of  this  particular 
transaction  in  the  memorandum  sales-book,  the 
figures  recorded  were  three  dollars  less  than  the 
actual  amount  received.  So,  on  this,  the  first  day 
of  the  young  man’s  lapse  from  honesty,  he  had  ap- 
propriated the  sum  of  eight  dollars — nearly  equal  to 
his  entire  week’s  salary  ! For  such  a recent  travel- 
ler in  this  downward  road,  how  rapid  had  already 
become  his  steps ! 

Evening  found  him  again  alone,  musing  and  de- 
bating with  himself,  ere  locking  up  the  store*  and 
returning  home.  The  excitement  of  business  being 


38 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


over,  his  thoughts  flowed  in  a calmer  current ; and 
the  stillness  of  the  deserted  i:om  gave  to  his  feel- 
ings a hue  of  sobriety.  He  was  not  altogether  satis- 
fied with  himself.  How  could  he  be  ? No  man  ever 
was  satisfied  with  himself,  when  seclusion  and  silence 
found  him  after  his  first  departure  from  the  right 
way.  Ah,  how  little  is  there  in  worldly  possessions, 
be  it  large  or  small,  to  compensate  for  a troubled, 
self-accusing  spirit ! how  little  to  throw  in  the  ba- 
lance against  the  heavy  weight  of  conscious  villany  ! 

How  tenderly,  how  truly,  how  devotedly  had 
Edward  Claire  loved  the  young  wife  of  his  bosom, 
since  the  hour  the  pulses  of  their  spirits  first  beat 
in  joyful  unity ! How  eager  had  he  ever  been  to 
turn  his  face  homeward  when  the  shadows  of  even- 
ing began  to  fall ! But  now  he  lingered — lingered, 
though  all  the  business  of  the  day  was  over.  The 
thought  of  his  wife’ created  no  quick  impulse  to  be 
away.  He  felt  more  like . shunning  her  presence. 
He  even  for  a time  indulged  a motion  of  anger  to- 
ward her  for  what  he  mentally  termed  her  morbid 
sensitiveness  in  regard  to  others’  right — her  dreamy 
ideal  of  human  perfection. 

“ We  are  in  the  world,  and  we, must  do  as  it 
does.  We  must  take  it  as  it  is,  not  as  it  should 
be.” 

So  he  mused  with  himself,  in  a self-approving  ar- 
gument. Yet  he  could  not  banish  the  accusing 
spirit ; he  could  not  silence  the  inward  voice  of 
yarning. 

Once  there  came  a strong  revulsion.  Good  ini 
pulses  seemed  about  to  gain  the  mastery.  In  this 
state  of  mind,  he  took  from  his  pocket  his  ill-gotten 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


39 


gains,  and  threw  them  into  the  money-box,  which 
had  already  been  placed  in  the  fire-closet. 

“ What  good  will  that  do  V ’ said  he  to  himself, 
as  the  wave  of  better  feelings  began  to  subside. 
u All  the  sales-entries  have  been  made,  and  the 
cash  balanced;  Jasper  made  the  balance  himself. 
So  the  cash  will  only  show  an  excess  to  be  accounted 
for ; and  from  this  may  come  suspicion.  It  is  always 
more  hazardous  to  go  backward  than  forward— 
(false  reasoner  !) — to  retrace  our  steps  than  to  press 
boldly  onward.  No,  no.  This  will  not  mend  the 
matter.” 

And  Claire  replaced  the  money  in  his  pocket.  In 
a little  while  afterward,  he  left  the  store,  and  took 
his  way  homeward. 


CHAPTER  IY. 

As  on  the  previous  evening,  Mrs.  Claire  was 
alone  for  some  time  later  than  usual,  but  now  with 
an  anxious,  almost  fearful  looking  for  her  husband  s 
return.  Suddenly  she  had  taken  the  alarm.  A 
deep,  brooding  shadow  was  on  her  heart,  though 
she  could  not  see  the  bird  of  night  from  whose 
wings  it  had  fallen.  Frequently,  during  the  after- 
noon, tears  had  wet  her  cheek ; and  when  an  old 
friend  of  her  mother’s,  who  lived  in  the  country, 
and  who  had  come  to  the  city  in  order  to  make  a 
few  purchases,  called  to  see  her,  it  was  with  diffi- 


40 


true  riches;  or, 


eulty  she  could  hide  her  disturbed  feelings  from 
observation. 

The  absent  one  came  in  at  last,  and  with  so  much 
of  the  old,  frank,  loving  spirit  in  his  voice  and  man- 
ner, that  the  troubled  heart  of  Mrs.  Claire  beat  with 
freer  pulsations.  And  yet  something  about  her  hus- 
band appeared  strange.  There  was  a marked  dif- 
ference between  his  state  of  mind  now,  and  on  the 
evening  before.  Even  at  dinner-time  he  was  silent 
and  abstracted. 

In  fact,  Edward  Claire  was,  for  the  first  time, 
acting  a part  toward  his  wife ; and,  as  in  all  such 
eases,  there  was  sufficient  over-action  to  betray  the 
artifice,  or,  at  least,  to  awaken  a doubt.  Still, 
Edith  was  greatly  relieved  by  the  change,  and  she 
chided  herself  for  having  permitted  doubt  and  vague 
questionings  to  find  a harbour  in  her  thoughts. 

During  tea-time,  Claire  chatted  freely,  as  was  his 
custom ; but  he  grew  serious  as  they  sat  together, 
after  the  table  was  cleared  away,  and  Edith  had 
taken  her  sewing.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  he 
thought  out  of  himself  sufficiently  to  remember  his 
visit  to  the  house  of  death  in  the  morning,  and  he 
said — 

“ I witnessed  something  this  morning,  dear,  that 
has  made  me  feel  sad  ever  since.” 

“ What  was  that,  Edward?”  inquired  the  wife, 
looking  instantly  into  his  face,  with  a strongly 
manifested  interest. 

“ I don’t  think  you  knew  Mr.  Elder  or  his  family 
~Ruben  Elder?” 

“ I have  heard  the  name,  nothing  more.” 

“ Mr.  Elder  died  last  week.” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


41 


u Ah  ! What  family  did  he  leave  ?” 

“ A wife  and  one  child.’ 5 
Mrs.  Claire  sighed. 

“ Did  he  leave  them  comfortably  off  in  the 
world  ?”  she  asked,  after  a brief  silence. 

“I  don’t  know;  but  I’m  afraid  he’s  not  left 
much,  if  any  thing.  Mr.  Jasper  has  been  appointed 
the  executor.” 

“ Mr.  Jasper !” 

“ Yes.  This  morning  he  called  to  see  Mrs.  Elder, 
and  found  her  in  a very  low  state.  In  fact,  she  died 
while  he  was  there.” 

“ Edward!  Died?” 

“Yes,  died;  and  her  only  child,  a sweet  little 
girl,  not  five  years  old,  is  now  a friendless  orphan.” 
“ How  very 'sad  !” 

“Sad  enough,  Edith,  sad  enough.  Mr.  Jaspei, 
who  has  no  taste  for  scenes  of  distress,  wished  me 
to  look  after  the  funeral  arrangements ; so  I went 
to  the  house,  and  attended  to  matters  as  well  as  I 
could.  Ah  me  ! It  has  cast  a gloom  over  my  feel- 
ings that  I find  it  hard  to  cast  off.” 

“Did  you  see  the  child?”  inquired  Mrs.  Claire, 
the  mother’s  impulse  giving  direction  to  her 
thoughts. 

“Yes  ; and  a lovely  child  it  is.  Poor  thing  !” 

“ There  are  near  relatives,  I presume  ?” 

“None;  at  least,  so  Jasper  says.” 

“What  is  to  become  of  the  child?” 

“ Dear  above  knows  ! As  for  her  legal  guardian, 
she  has  nothing  to  hope  from  his  humanity.  She 
will  naturally  find  a home  somewhere — a home  pro- 
cured for  money.  But  her  future  comfort  and  well 


42 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


being  'will  depend  more  on  a series  of  happy  acci- 
dents than  on  the  good-will  of  the  hard-hearted 
man  to  whose  tender  mercies  the  dying  parents 
have  committed  her.” 

“ Not  happy  accidents,  Edward,”  said  Mrs.  Claire, 
with  a tender  smile;  “ say,  wise  providences.  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  chance.” 

“ As  you  will,  dear,”  returned  the  husband,  with 
a slight  change  in  his  tone.  “ I would  not  call  that 
providence  wise  by  which  Leonard  Jasper  became 
the  guardian  of  a friendless  child.” 

“ This  is  because  you  cannot  see  the  end  from  the 
beginning,  Edward.  The  Lord’s  providence  does 
not  regard  merely  the  external  comfort  and  well- 
being of  his  creatures  ; it  looks  far  beyond  this,  and 
regards  their  internal  interests.  It  permits  evil 
and  suffering  to-day,  but  only  that  good,  a higher 
than  earthly  good,  may  come  on  the  morrow.  It 
was  no  blind  chance,  believe  me,  my  husband,  that 
led  to  the  appointment  of  Mr.  Jasper  as  the  guard- 
ian of  this  poor  child.  Eternal  purposes  are  in- 
volved therein,  as  surely  as  God  is  infinitely  wise 
and  good.  Good  to  one,  perhaps  to  many,  will 
grow  out  of  what  now  seems  a deeply  to  be  regretted 
circumstance.” 

“ You’re  a happy  reasoner,  Edith.  I wish  I could 
believe  in  so  consoling  a philosophy.” 

“ Edward  !”  There  was  a change  in  Mrs.  Claire’s 
voice,  and  a look  blending  surprise  with  a gentle 
rebuke  in  her  countenance.  64  Edward,  how  can 
you  speak  so?  Is  not  mine  the  plain  Christian 
doctrine  ? Is  it  not  to  be  found  everywhere  in  the 
Bible?” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


43 


“Doubtless,  Edith;  but  I’m  not  one  of  the  pious 
kind,  you  know.” 

Claire  forced  a smile  to  his  face,  but  his  wife 
looked  serious,  and  remarked — 

“ I don’t  like  to  hear  you  talk  so,  Edward.  There 
is  in  it,  to  me,  something  profane.  Ah,  my  dear 
husband,  in  this  simple  yet  all-embracing  doctrine 
of  providence  lies  the  whole  secret  of  human  happi- 
ness. If  our  Creator  be  infinite,  wise,  and  good, 
he  will  seek  the  well-being  of  his  creatures,  even 
though  they  turn  from  him  to  do  violence  to  his 
laws ; and,  in  his  infinite  love  and  wisdom,  will  so 
order  and  arrange  events  as  to  make  every  thing 
conspire  to  the  end  in  view.  Both  bodily  and  men- 
tal suffering  are  often  permitted  to  take  place,  as 
the  only  agencies  by  which  to  counteract  hereditary 
evils  that  would  otherwise  destroy  the  soul.” 

“Ah,  Edie  ! Edie  !”  said  Claire,  interrupting  his 
wife,  in  a fond,  playful  tone,  “you  are  a wise 
preacher,  and  as  good  as  you  are  wise.  I only 
wish  that  I could  see  and  feel  as  you  do ; no  doubt 
it  would  be  better  for  me  in  the  end.  But  such  a 
wish  is  vain.” 

“ Oh,  say  not  so,  dear  husband !”  exclaimed 
Edith,  with  unexpected  earnestness;  “say  not  so! 
It  hurts  me  almost  like  words  of  personal  unkind- 
ness.” 

“ But  how  can  I be  as  good  as  you  are  ? It  isn’t 
in  me.” 

“ I am  not  good,  Edward.  There  is  none  good 
but  God,”  answered  the  wife  solemnly, 

“Oh  yes,  yes!  You  are  an  angel!”  returned 


44 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 

'I 

Claire,  with  a sudden  emotion  that  he  could  not 
control.  66  And  I — and  I” 

He  checked  himself,  turned  his  face  partly  away 
to  conceal  its  expression,  sat  motionless  for  a mo- 
, ment,  and  then  burying  his  face  on  the  bosom  of 
his  wife,  sobbed  for  the  space  of  nearly  a minute, 
overcome  by  a passion  that  he  in  vain  struggled  to 
master. 

Never  had  Edith  seen  her  husband  so  moved. 
No  wonder  that  she  was  startled,  even  frightened. 

“ Oh,  Edward,  dear  Edward!  what  ails  you?” 
,were  her  eager,  agitated  words,  so  soon  as  she  could 
speak.  “ What  has  happened  ? Oh,  tell  me,  my 
husband,  my  dear  husband!” 

But  Claire  answered  not,  though  he  was  gaining 
some  control  over  his  feelings. 

“ Oh,  Edward  ! won’t  you  speak  to  me  ? Won’t 
you  tell  me  all  your  troubles,  all  your  heart  ? Am 
I not  your  wife,  and  do  I not  love  you  with  a love 
no  words  can  express  ? Am  I not  your  best  and 
closest  friend  ? Would  I not  even  lay  down  my  life 
for  your  good  ? Dear  Edward,  what  has  caused  this 
great  emotion  ?” 

Thus  urged,  thus  pleaded  the  tearful  Edith.  But 
there  was  no  reply,  though  the  strong  tremor  which 
had  thrilled  through  the  frame  of  Claire  had  sub- 
sided. He  was  still  bowed  forward,  with  his  face 
hid  on  her  bosom,  while  her  arm  was  drawn 
lovingly  around  him.  So  they  remained  for  a 
time  longer.  At  length,  the  young  man  lifted 
himself  up,  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her.  His 
countenance  was  pale  and  sad,  and  bore  traces  of 
intense  suffering. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


45 


“My  husband!  my  dear  husband !°  murmured 
Edith. 

“My  wife ! my  good  angel !°  was  the  low,  thrill- 
ing response;  and  Claire  pressed  his  lips  almost 
reverently  upon  the  brow  of  his  wife. 

“I  have  had  a fearful  dream,  Edith!0  said  he; 
“ a very  fearful  dream.  Thank  God,  I am  awake 
now.” 

“ A dream,  Edward  ?°  returned  his  wife,  not  fully 
comprehending  him. 

“ Yes,  love,  a dream ; yet  far  too  real.  Surely,  I 
dreamed,  or  was  under  some  dire  enchantment.  But 
the  spell  is  gone — gone,  I trust,  for  ever.0 

“ What  spell,  love  ? Oh,  speak  to  me  a plainer 
language !°  , 

“I  think,  Edith,0  said  the  young  man,  after  re- 
maining thoughtfully  silent  for  some  time,  “ that  I 
will  try  and  get  another  place.  I don’t  believe 
it  is  good  for  me  to  live  with  Leonard  Jasper. 
Gold  is  the  god  he  worships  ; and  I find  myself 
daily  tempted  to  bend  my  knee  in  the  same 
idolatry.0 

“ Edward  !°  A shadow  had  fallen  on  the  face  of 
Edith. 

66  You  look  troubled  at  my  words,  Edith,0  re- 
sumed the  young  man;  “yet  what  I say  is  true, 
too  true.  I wish  it  were  not  so.  Ah  ! this  passage 
through  the  world,  hard  and  toilsome  as  it  is,  has 
many,  many  dangers.0 

“ If  we  put  our  trust  in  God,  we  need  have  no 
fear,°  said  Edith,  in  a gentle  yet  earnest  and  pene- 
trating voice,  laying  her  hand  lovingly  on  the  hot 
forehead  of  her  husband,  and  gazing  into  his  eyes. 


46 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


“ Nothing  without  can  harm  us.  Our  worst  ene« 
mies  are  within.” 

“ Within?” 

“Yes,  love;  within  our  bosoms.  Into  our  dis- 
trusts  and  unsatisfied  desires  they  enter,  and  tempt 
us  to  evil.” 

“True,  true,”  said  Claire,  in  an  abstracted  man- 
ner, and  as  if  speaking  to  himself. 

“What  more  do  we  want  to  make  us  happy?” 
asked  Edith,  comprehending  still  more  clearly  her 
husband’s  state  oPmind. 

Claire  sighed  deeply,  but  made  no  answer. 

“More  money  could  not  do  it,”  she  added. 

“Money  would  procure  us  many  comforts  that 
we  do  not  now  possess,”  said  the  young  man. 

“I  doubt  this,  Edward.  It  might  give  more  of 
the  elegancies  of  life;  but,  as  I have  often  said, 
these  do  not  always  produce  corresponding  pleasure. 
If  they  come,  without  too  ardent  seeking,  in  the 
good  pleasure  of  Providence,  as  the  reward  of  use- 
ful and  honest  labour,  then  they  may  increase  the 
^delights  of  life ; but  never  otherwise.  If  the  heart 
is  set  on  them,  their  acquirement  will  surely  end  in 
disappointment.  Possession  will  create  satiety ; and 
the  mind  too  quickly  turns  from  the  good  it  has 
toiled  for  in  hope  so  long,  to  fret  itself  because 
there  is  an  imagined  higher  good  beyond.  Believe 
me,  Edward,  if  we  are  not  satisfied  with  what 
God  gives  us  as  the  reward  of  useful  toil  to-day, 
we  will  not  he  satisfied  with  what  he  gives  to- 
morrow.” 

“ Perhaps  you  are  right.  Edith ; I believe  you  are. 
My  mind  has  a glimpse  oi  u t3  truth,  but  to  fully  real-" 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


47 


izo  it  is  hard.  Ah,  I wish  that  I possessed  more  of 
your  trusting  spirit !” 

66  We  are  both  cared  for,  Edward,  by  the  same  in- 
finite love — cared  for,  whether  we  doubt  and  fear, 
. or  trust  confidingly.” 

“ It  must  be  so.  I see  it  now,  I feel  it  now — see 
it  and  feel  it  in  the  light  of  your  clearer  intuitions. 
Ah,  how  different  from  this  pure  faith  is  the  faith 
of  the  wrorld  ! Men  worship  gold  as  their  god;  they 
trust  only  in  riches.” 

u And  their  god  is  ever  mocking  them.  To-day 
he  smiles  upon  his  votary,  and  to-morrow  hides  his 
face  in  darkness.  To-day  he  gives  full  coffers,  that 
are  empty  to-morrow.  But  the  true  riches  offered 
so  freely  to  all  by  the  living  God  are  blessed  both 
in  the  getting  and  in  the  keeping.  These  never 
produce  satiety,  never  take  to  themselves  wings. 
Good  affections  and  true  thoughts  continually  nou- 
rish and  re-create  the  mind.  They  are  the  soul’s 
wealth,  the  perennial  fountains  of  all  true  enjoy- 
ment. With  these,  and  sufficient  for  the  body’s 
health  and  comfort,  all  may  be  happy : without 
them,  the  riches  of  the  world  have  no  power  to 
satisfy.” 

A pause  ensued,  during  which  the  minds  of  both 
wandered  back  a little. 

“ If  you  feel,”  said  Edith,  recalling  the  words  of 
her  husband,  “ that  there  is  danger  in  remaining 
where  you  are” 

“ That  was  hastily  spoken,”  Edward  Claire  inter- 
rupted his  wife,  “ and  in  a moment  of  weakness.  I 
must  resist  the  evil  that  assaults  me.  I must  strive 
with  and  overcome  the  tempter.  I must  think  less 


48 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


of  this  world  and  its  riches ; and  in  my  thought' 
place  a higher  value  upon  the  riches  without  wings 
of  which  you  have  spoken  to  me  so  often.’ ’ 

“ Can  you  remain  where  you  are,  and  be  out  of 
danger?”  asked  Edith. 

“ There  is  danger  everywhere.” 

“ Ay ; but  in  some  positions  more  imminent  dan- 
ger. Is  it  well  to  court  temptation  ?” 

“ Perhaps  not.  But  I cannot  afford  to  give  up 
my  place  with  Jasper.” 

“Yet,  while  remaining,  you  will  be  strongly 
tempted.” 

“Jasper  is  dishonest  at  heart.  He  is  ever  trying 
to  overreach  in  dealing,  and  expects  every  one  in 
his  employment  to  be  as  keen  as  himself.” 

“ Oh,  Edward,  do  not  remain  with  him  a day 
longer ! There  is . death  to  the  spirit  in  the  very 
atmosphere  around  such  a man.  You  cannot  serve 
such  a master,  and  be  true  to  yourself  and  to  God. 
It  is  impossible.” 

“ I believe  you  are  right  in  that,  Edith ; I know 
you  are  right,”  said  the  young  man,  with  a strong 
emphasis  on  the  last  sentence.  “ But  what  am  I 
to  do  ? Five  hundred  dollars  a year  is  little  enough 
for  our  wants ; I have,  as  you  know,  been  dissatis- 
fied with  that.  I can  hardly  get  as  much  in  another 
situation.  I know  of  but  one  opening,  and  that  is 
with  Melleville.” 

“ Go  back  to  him,  Edward,”  said  his  wife. 

“ And  get  but  four  hundred  a year  ? It  is  all  he 
can  pay.” 

“ If  but  three  hundred,  it  were  a situation  far  t<? 
be  preferred  to' the  one  you  now  hold.” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


49 


! a A hundred  dollars  a year,  Edith,  taken  from  our 
feresent  income,  would  deprive  us  of  many  comforts.” 
J “ Think  of  how  much  we  would  gain  in  true  in- 
ward enjoyment,  Edward,  by  such  a change.  Have 
you  grown  happier  since  you  entered  the  store  of 
Mr.  Jasper  ?” 

The  young  man  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  mur- 
mured, “Alas!  no.” 

“ Can  any  thing  compensate  for  the  anguish  of  mind 
we  have  both  suffered  in  the  last  few  hours,  Edward  ?” 

There  was  a quick  flushing  of  the  face,  as  Edith 
said  this. 

“Both  suffered  !”  exclaimed  Edward,  with  a look 
of  surprise. 

“Ay,  both,  love.  Can  the  heart  of  my  husband 
feel  ajar  of  discord,  and  mine  not  thrill  painfully? 
Can  he  be  in  temptation,  without  an  overshadowing 
of  my  spirit  ? Can  he  be  in  darkness,  and  I at  the 
same  time  in  light  ? No,  no  ; that  were  impossible. 
You  have  been  in  great  peril ; I knew  that  some 
evil  threatened  you,  even  before  you  confessed  it 
with  your  lips.  Oh,  Edward,  we  have  both  tasted, 
m the  last  few  hours,  a bitterer  cup  than  has  yet 
been  placed  to  our  lips.  May  we  not  be  called  upon 
to  drink  it  to  the  very  dregs !” 

“Amen !”  fell  solemnly  from  the  lips  of  Edward 
Claire,  as  a cold  shudder  crept  along  his  nerves. 
If  there  had  been  any  wavering  in  his  mind  before, 
there  was  none  now.  He  resolved  to  make  restitu- 
tion in  the  morning,  and,  as  soon  as  opportunity 
offered,  to  leave  a place  where  he  was  so  strongly 
tempted  to  step  aside  from  the  path  of  integrity. 
The  virtue  of  his  wife  had  saved  him. 

5 


50 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


CHAPTER  V. 

u Edward,”  said  Mr.  Jasper,  on  tlie  next  morn* 
ing,  soon  after  he  came  to  the  store,  “ Was  any  time 
fixed  for  the  funeral  yesterday?” 

“ I believe  not.” 

“ That  was  an  oversight.  It  might  as  well  take 
place  to-day  as  to-morrow,  or  a week  hence,  if  there 
are  no  intimate  friends  or  relatives  to  be  thought  of 
or  consulted.  I wish  you  would  take  the  forenoon 
to  see  about  this  troublesome  matter.  The  under- 
taker will,  of  course,  do  every  thing  according  to 
yt)ur  directions.  Let  there  be  as  little  expense  as 
possible.” 

While  they  were  yet  speaking,  the  undertaker 
came  in  to  make  inquiry  as  to  the  funeral  arrange- 
ments to  be  observed. 

“Is  the  coffin  ready  ?”  asked  Jasper,  in  a cold, 
business  manner. 

“It  is,”  was  the  reply. 

“ What  of  the  ground  ? Did  you  see  to  her  hus- 
band’s funeral?” 

“Yes.  I have  attended  to  all  these  matters. 
Nothing  remains  but  k>  fix  the  time,  and  notify  the 
clergyman.” 

“Were  you  at  the  house  this  morning ?”  asked 
Jasper. 

“I  was.” 

“ Who  did  you  find  there  ?” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


51 


“ Oue  or  two  of  the  neighbours  were  in.” 

“No  near  relatives  of  the  deceased?” 

“Not  to  my  knowledge.” 

“Was  anything  said  about  the  time  for  burying 
Mrs.  Elder?” 

“ No.  That  matter,  I suppose,  will  rest  with  you.” 
“In  that  case,  I s'ee  no  reason  for  delay,”  said 
Jasper.  “What  end  is  served?” 

“The  sooner  it  is  over  the  better.” 

“ So  I think.  Suppose  we  say  this  afternoon  ?” 
“ Very  well.  The  time  might  be  fixed  at  five.  The 
graveyard  is  not  very  distant.  How  many  carriages 
shall  I order  ?” 

“Not  many.  Two,  I should  think,  would  be 
enough,”  replied  Jasper.  “ There  will  not  be  much 
left,  I presume  ; therefore,  the  lighter  the  funeral  ex- 
penses the  better.  By  the  way,  did  you  see  the 
child,  when  you  were  there  this  morning?” 

“No,  sir.” 

“ Some  neighbour  has,  in  all  probability,  taken  it.” 
“Very  likely.  It  is  a beautiful  child.” 

“ Yes — rather  pretty,”  was  Jasper’s  cold  response. 
“ So  young  to  be  left  alone  in  the  world.  Ah, 
me  ! But  these  things  will  happen.  So,  you  decide 
to  have  the  funeral  at  five  this  afternoon  ?” 

“ Yes ; unless  something  that  we  do  not  now  know 
of,  interferes  to  prevent.  The  quicker  a matter  like 
this  is  over  the  better.” 

“True.  Very  well.” 

“You  will  see  to  every  thing?” 

“ Certainly ; that  is  my  business.  Will  you  be  ftt 
the  house  this  afternoon?” 

“ At  the  time  of  the  funeral  ?” 


52 


PRUE  riches;  or, 


“Yes.” 

“I  think  not.  1 can’t  do  any  good.” 

“ No, — only  for  the  looks  of  the  thing.” 

The  undertaker  was  already  beginning  to  feel  the 
heartless  indifference  of  Jasper,  and  his  last  remark 
was  half  in  irony,  half  in  smothered  contempt. 

“ Looks!  Oh!  I never  do  any  thing  for  looks. 
If  I can  be  of  any  service,  I will  be  there — but,  if  not, 
not.  I’m  a right  up-and-down,  straight-forward  man 
of  the  world,  you  see.” 

The  undertaker  bowed,  saying  that  all  should  be 
as  he  wdshed. 

u You  can  step  around  there,  after  a while,  Ed- 
ward,” said  Jasper,  as  soon  as  the  undertaker  had 
retired.  “ When  you  go,  I wish  you  would  ascer- 
tain, particularly,  what  has  been  done  with  the  child. 
If  a neighbour  has  taken  her  home,  make  inquiry  as 
to  whether  she  will  be  retained  in  the  family ; or, 
better  still,  adopted.  You  can  hint,  in  a casual  way, 
you  know,  that  her  parents  have  left  property,  which 
may,  some  time  or  other,  be  valuable.  This upay  be 
a temptation,  and  turn  the  scale  in*  favour  of  adop- 
tion ; which  may  save  me  a world  of  trouble  and  re- 
sponsibility.” 

“ There  is  some  property  left?”  remarked  Claire. 

“ A small  house  or  two,  and  a bit  of  worthless 
land  in  the  mountains.  All,  no  doubt,  mortgaged 
within  a trifle  of  theii*  value.  Still,  it’s  property 
you  know  ; and  the  word  6 property’  has  a very  at- 
tractive sound  in  some  people’s  ears.” 

A strong  feeling  of  disgust  toward  Jasper  swelled 
in  the  young  man’s  heaYt,  but  he  guarded  against  its 
expression  in  look  or  words. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


53 


A customer  entering  at  the  moment,  Claire  left 
his  principal  and  moved  down  behind  the  counter. 
He  was  not  very  agreeably  affected,  as  the  lady  ap- 
proached him,  to  see  in  her  the  person  from  whom 
he  had  taken  ten  dollars  on  the  previous  day,  in  ex- 
cess of  a reasonable  profit.  Her  serious  face  warned 
him  that  she  had  discovered  the  cheat. 

“ Are  you  the  owner  of  this  store  ?”  she  asked,  as 
she  leaned  upon  the  counter,  and  fixed  her  mild,  yet 
steady  eyes,  upon  the  young  man’s  face. 

“ I am  not,  ma’am,”  replied  Claire,  forcing  a 
smile  as  he  spoke.  “ Didn’t  I sell  you  a lot  of  goods 
yesterday  ?” 

“ You  did,  sir.” 

“I  thought  I recognised  you.  Well,  ma’am, 
there  was  an  error  in  your  bill — an  overcharge.” 

“ So  I should  think.” 

“ An  overcharge  of  five  dollars.” 

Claire,  while  he  affected  an  indifferent  manner, 
leaned  over  toward  the  woman  and  spoke  in  a low 
tone  of  voice.  Inwardly,  he  was  trembling  lest 
Jasper  should  became  cognizant  of  what  was  passing. 

“ Will  you  take  goods  for  what  is  due  you;  or 
shall  I hand  you  back  the  money  ?”  said  he. 

“As  I have  a few  more  purchases  to  make,  I may 
as  well  take,  goods,”  was  replied,  greatly  to  the 
young  man’s  relief. 

“ What  shall  I show  you,  ma’am  ?”  he  asked,  in  a 
voice  that  now  reached  the  attentive  ears  of  Jasper, 
who  bad  been  wondering  to  himself  as  to  what  was 
passing  between  the  clerk  arid  customer. 

A few  articles  were  mentioned,  and,  in  & 

while,  another  bill  of  seven  dollars  was  made. 

6* 


54 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


“lam  to  pay  you  two  dollars,  I believe?”  said 
the  lady,  after  Claire  had  told  her  how  much  the 
articles  came  to.  As  she  said  this,  Jasper  was  close 
by  and  heard  the  remark. 

“Right,  ma’am,”  answered  the  clerk. 

The  customer  laid  a ten-dollar  bill  on  the  counter, 
Claire  saw  that  the  eyes  of  Jasper  were  on  him.  He 
took  it  up,  placed  it  in  the  money-drawer,  and  stood 
some  time  fingering  over  the  change  and  small  bills. 
Then,  with  his  back  turned  toward  Jasper,  he 
slipped  a five  dollar  goldpiece  from  his  pocket.  This, 
with  a three  dollar  bill  from  the  drawer,  he  gave  to 
the  lady,  who  received  her  change  and  departed. 

Other  customers  coming  in  at  the  moment,  both 
Jasper  and  his  clerk  were  kept  busy  for  the  next 
hour.  When  they  were  alone  again,  the  former 
said — 

“ How  large  a bill  did  you  sell  the  old  lady  from 
the  country,  who  was  in  this  morning?” 

“ The  amount  was  seven  dollars,  I believe.” 

“I  thought  she  said  two  dollars?” 

“ She  gave  me  a ten-dollar  bill,  and  I only  took 
three  from  the  drawer,”  said  the  young  man. 

“ I thought  you  gave  her  a piece  of  gold  ?” 

“ There  was  no  gold  in  the  drawer,”  was  replied, 
evasively. 

Much  to  the  relief  of  Claire,  another  customer  - 
tered,  thus  putting  an  end  to  the  conference  between 
him  and  J asper. 

The  mind  of  the  latter,  ever  suspicious,  was  not 
altogether  satisfied.  He  was  almost  sure  that  two 
dollars  was  the  price  named  for  the  goods,  and  that 
he  had  seen  a gold  coin  offered  in  change.  And  he 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


5h 


took  occasion  to  refer  to  it  at  the  next  opportunity, 
when  his  clerk’s  positive  manner,  backed  by  the  en- 
try of  seven  dollars  on  the  sales’  book,  silenced  him. 

As  for  Claire,  this  act  of  restitution,  so  far  as  it 
was  in  his  power  to  make  it,  took  from  his  mind  a 
heavy  burden.  He  had,  still,  three  dollars  in  his 
possession  that  were  not  rightfully  his  own.  It  was 
by  no  means  probable  that  a similar  opportunity  to 
the  one  just  embraced  would  occur.  What  then 
was  it  best  for  him  to  do  ? This  question  was  soon 
after  decided,  by  his  throwing  the  money  into  the 
cash-drawer  of  Jasper. 

On  his  way  home  to  dinner  that  day,  Claire  called 
into  the  store  of  a Mr.  Melleville,  referred  to  in  tb. 
conversation  with  his  wife  on  the  previous  evening 
This  gentleman,  who  was  somewhat  advanced  in 
years,  was  in  the  same  business  with  Jasper.  He 
was  known  as  a strictly  upright  dealer — “Too  ho- 
nest to  get  along  in  this  world,”  as  some  said.  “ Old 
Stick-in-the-mud,”  others  called  him.  “A  man  be- 
hind the  times,”  as  the  new-comers  in  the  trade  were 
pleased  to  say.  Claire  had  lived  with  him  for  some 
years,  and  left  him  on  the  offer  of  Jasper  to  give  him 
a hundred  dollars  more  per  annum  than  he  was 
getting. 

“Ah,  Edward!  How  do  you  do  to-day?”  said 
Mr,  Melleville,  kindly,  as  the  young  man  came  in. 

“Very  well  in  body,  but  not  so  well  in  mind,” 
was  the  frank  reply,  as  he  took  the  proffered  hand 
of  his  old  employer. 

“ Not  well  in  mind,  ah!  That’s  about  the  worst 
kind  of  sickness  I know  of,  Edward.  What’s  the 
matter  ?” 


56 


TRUE  RICHES  ; OR, 


“As*I  have  dropped  in  to  talk  with  you  a little 
about  my  own  affairs,  I will  come  at  once  to  the 
point.” 

44  That  is  right.  Speak  out  plainly,  Edward,  and 
jyou  will  find  in  me,  at  least,  a sincere  friend,  and 
an  honest  adviser.  What  is  the  matter  now?” 

44 1 don’t  like  my  present  situation,  Mr.  Melle- 
ville !” 

44 Ah!  Well?  What’s  the  trouble?  Have  you 
and  Jasper  had  a misunderstanding?” 
f 44  Oh  no ! Nothing  of  that.  W e get  on  well  enough 
oOgether.  But  I don’t  think  its  a good  place  for 
x young  man  to  be  in,  sir  !” 

44  Why  not  ?” 

44 1 ean  be  plain  with  you.  In  a word,  Mr.  Ja&- 
per  is  not  an  honest  dealer ; and  he  expects  nis 
clerks  to  do  pretty  much  as  he  does.”  . 

Mr.  Melleville  shook  his  head  and  looked  grave. 

44  To  tell  the  truth,”  continued  Edward,  ' X have 
suffered  myself  to  fall,  almost  insensibly,  into  his 
way  of  doing  business,  until  I have  becGmo  an  abso- 
lute cheat — -taking,  sometimes,  double  and  treble 
profit  from  a customer  who  happened  to  be  ignorant 
about  prices.” 

44 Edward!”  exclaimed  the  old  man,  an  expres- 
sion of  painful  surprise  settling  on  his  countenance 

44  It  is  all  too  true,  Mr.  Melleville — all  too  true. 
And  I don’t  think  it  good  for  me  to  remain  with 
Mr.  Jasper.” 

44  What  does  he  give  you  now?” 

44  The  same  as  at  first.  Five  hundred  dollars.” 

The  old  man  bent  his  head  and  thought  for  a 
few  moments. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


57 


“His  system  of  unfair  dealing  toward  his  cus- 
tomers is  your  principal  objection  to  Mr.  Jasper  ?” 

“ That  is  one  objection,  and  a very  serious  one, 
too : particularly  as  I am  required  to  be  as  unjust 
to  customers  as  himself.  But  there  is  still  another 
reason  why  I wish' to  get  away  from  this  situation. 
Mr.  Jasper  seems  to  think  and  care  for  nothing  but 
money-getting.  In  his  mind,  gold  is  the  highest  good. 
To  a far  greater  extent  than  I was,  until  very  re- 
cently, aware,  have  I fallen,  by  slow  degrees,  into 
his  way  of  thinking  and  feeling  ; until  I have  grown 
dissatisfied  with  my  position.  Temptation  has  come, 
as  a natural  result ; and,  before  I dreamed  that  my 
feet  were  wandering  from  the  path  of  safety,  I have 
found  myself  on  the  brink  of  a fearful  precipice.” 
“My  dear  young  friend!”  said  Mr.  Melleville, 
visibly  moved,  “ this  is  dreadful !” 

“ It  is  dreadful.  I can  scarcely  realize  that  it  is 
so,”  replied  Claire,  also  exhibiting  emotion. 

“You  ought  not  to  remain  in  the  employment  of 
Leonard  Jasper.  That,  at  least,  is  plain.  Better,  far 
better,  to  subsist  on  bread  and  water,  than  to  live 
sumptuously  on  the  ill-gotten  gold  of  such  a man.” 
“ Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Melleville,  I feel  all  the  truth  of 
what  you  affirm,  and  am  resolved  to  seek  for  ano- 
ther place.  Did  you  not  say,  when  we  parted  two 
years  ago,  that  if  ever  I wished  to  return,  you  would 
endeavour  to  make  an  opening  for  me?” 

“I  did,  Edward;  and  can  readily  bring  you  in 
now,  as  one  of  my  young  men  is  going  to  leave  me 
for  a higher  salary  than  I can  afford  to  pay.  There 
is  one  drawback,  however.” 

“What  is  that,  Mr,  Melleville?” 


58 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


“ The  salary  will  be  only  four  hundred  dollars  a 
year.” 

“I  shall  expect  no  more  from  you.” 

“ But  can  you  live  on  that  sum  now  ? Remem- 
ber, that  you  have  been  receiving  five  hundred  dol- 
lars, and  that  your  wants  have  been  graduated  by 
your  rate  of  income.  Let  me  ask — have  you  saved 
any  thing  since  you  were  married?” 

u Nothing.” 

“ So  much  the  worse.  You  will  find  it  difficult 
to  fall  back  upon  a reduced  salary.  How  far  can 
you  rely  on  your  wife’s  co-operation  ?” 

“ To  the  fullest  extent.  I have  already  suggested 
to  her  the  change,  and  she  desires,  above  all  things, 
that  I make  it.” 

“ Does  she  understand  the  ground  of  this  pro- 
posed change?”  asked  Mr.  Melleville. 

“ Clearly.” 

u And  is  willing  to  meet  privation — to  step  down 
into  even  a humbler  sphere,  so  that  her  husband  be 
removed  from  the  tempting  influence  of  the  god  of 
this  world?” 

u She  is,  Mr.  Melleville.  Ah  ! I only  wish  that 
I could  look  upon  life  as  she  does.  That  I could 
see  as  clearly— that  I could  gather,  as  she  is  ga- 
thering them  in  her  daily  walk,  the  riches  that  have 
no  wings.” 

“ Thank  Giod  for  such  a treasure,  Edward  ! She 
is  worth  more  than  the  wealth  of  the  Indies.  With 
such  an  angel  to  walk  by  your  side,  you  need  feel 
no  evil.” 

“ You  will  give  me  a situation,  then,  Mr.  Melle- 
ville?” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


59 


“Yes,  Edward,”  replied  the  old  man. 

“ Then  I will  notify  Mr.  Jasper  this  afternoon, 
iw*d  enter  your  service  on  the  first  of  the  coming 
bionth.  My  heart  is  lighter  already.  Good  day.” 

And  E Iward  hurried  off  home. 

During  the  afternoon  he  found  no  opportunity 
to  speak  to  Mr.  Jasper  on  the  subject  first  in  his 
thoughts,  as  that  individual  wished  him  to  attend  Mrs. 
Elder’s  funeral,  and  gather  for  him  all  possible  in- 
formation about  the  child.  It  was  late  when  he 
came  back  from  the  burial-ground — so  late  that  he 
concluded  not  to  return,  on  that  evening,  to  the 
store.  In  the  carriage  in  which  he  rode,  was  the 
clergyman  who  officiated,  and  the  orphan  child  who, 
though  but  half  comprehending  her  loss,  was  yet 
overwhelmed  with  sorrow.  On  their  way  back,  the 
clergyman  asked  to  be  left  at  his  own  dwelling; 
and  this  was  done.  Claire  was  then  alone  with  the 
child,  who  shrank  close  to  him  in  the  carriage.  He 
did  not  speak  to  her ; nor  did  she  do  more  than  lift, 
now  and  then,  her  large,  soft,  tear-suffused  eyes  to 
his  face. 

Arrived,  at  length,  at  the  dwelling  from  which 
they  had  just  borne  forth  the  dead,  Claire  gently 
lifted  out  the  child,  and  entered  the  house  with  her. 
Two  persons  only  were  within,  the  domestic  and  the 
woman  who,  on  the  day  previous,  had  spoken  of 
taking  to  her  own  home  the  little  orphaned  one. 
The  former  had  on  her 'shawl  and  bonnet,  and  said 
that  she  was  about  going  away. 

“ You  will  not  leave  this  child  here  alone,”  said 
Edward. 

“I  will  take  her  for  the  present,”  spoke  up  the 


true  riches;  or, 


*60 


other.  cc  Would  you  like  to  go  home  with  me, 
Fanny  ?”  addressing  the  child.  “ Come,” — and  she 
held  out  her  hands. 

But  the  child  shrank  closer  to  the  side  of  Edward, 
, and  looked  up  into  his  face  with  a silent  appeal  that 
his  heart  could  not  resist. 

“ Thank  you,  ma’am,”  he  returned  politely.  “But 
we  won’t  trouble  you  to  do  that.  I will  take  her  to 
my  own  home  for  the  present.  Would  you  like  to 
go  with  me,  dear  ?” 

Fanny  answered  with  a grateful  look,  as  she  lifted 
her  beautiful  eyes  again  to  his  face. 

And  so,  after  the  woman  and  the  domestic  had 
departed,  Edward  Claire  locked  up  the  house,  and 
taking  the  willing  child  by  the  hand,  led  her  away 
to  his  own  humble  dwelling. 

Having  turned  himself  resolutely  away  from  evil, 
already  were  the  better  impulses  of  his  nature  quick- 
ened into  active  life.  A beautiful  humanity  was 
rising  up  to  fill  the  place  so  recently  about  to  be 
consecrated  to  the  worship  of  a hideous  selfishness. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Edward  Claire  was  in  no  doubt  as  to  the  recep- 
tion the  motherless  child  would  receive  from  his 
kind-hearted  wife.  A word  or  two  of  explanation 
enabled  her  to  comprehend  the  feeling  from  which 
he  had  acted. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


61 


“You  were  right,  Edward,”  said  she  in  hearty 
approval.  “I. am  glad  you  brought  her  home. 
Come,  dear,”  speaking  to  the  wondering,  partly 
shrinking  orphan,  “let  me  take  off  your  bonnet.” 
She  kissed  the  child’s  sweet  lips  and  then  gazed 
for  some  moments  into  her  face,  pleased,  yet  half 
surprised,  at  her  remarkable  beauty. 

Little  Fanny  felt  that  she  was  among  friends. 
The  sad  expression  of  her  face  soon  wore  off,  light 
came  back  to  her  eyes,  and  her  prattling  tongue  re- 
leased itself  from  a long  silence.  An  hour  after- 
ward, when  she  was  laid  to  sleep  in  a temporary 
bed,  made  for  her  on  the  floor,  her  heavy  eyelids 
fell  quickly,  with  their  long  lashes  upon  her  cheeks, 
and  she  was  soon  in  the  world  of  dreams. 

Then  followed  a long  and  serious  conference  be- 
tween Edward  and  his  wife. 

“I  saw  Mr.  Melleville  to-day,”  said  the  former. 
“Did  you?  I am  glad  of  that,”  was  answered. 

“ He  will  give  me  a place.” 

“ Grlad  asrain.” 

“ But,  Edith,  as  I supposed,  he  can  only  pay  me 
a salary  of  four  hundred  dollars.” 

“No  matter,”  was  the  prompt  reply;  “it  is  bet- 
ter than  five  hundred  where  you  are.” 

“Can  we  live  on  it,  Edith  ?”  Edward  spoke  in  a 
troubled  voice.  . 

“ Why  not  ? It  is  but  to  use  a little  more  econo- 
my in  our  expenses — to  live  on  two  dollars  a week 
less  than  we  now  spend ; and  that  will  not  be  very 
hard  to  do.  Trust  it  to  me,  dear.  I will  bring  the 
account  out  even.  And  we  will  be  just  as  happy. 
As  happy  ? Oh,  a thousand  times  happier  ! A hum 


62 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


dred  dollars  ! How  poorly  will  that  compensate  for 
broken  peace  and  a disquieted  conscience.  Edward, 
is  it  possible  for  you  to  remain  where  you  are,  and 
be  innocent  ?” 

“I  fear  not,  Edith,”  was  the  unhesitating  reply. 
“ And  yet,  dear,  I should  be  man  enough,  should 
have  integrity  enough,  to  resist  the  temptations  that 
might  come  in  my  way.” 

44  Do  not  think  of  remaining  where  you  are,”  said 
the  young  wife  earnestly.  46  If  Mr.  Melleville  will 
pay  you  four  hundred  dollars  a year,  take  his  offer 
and  leave  Mr.  Jasper.  It  will  be  a gain  rather  than 
a loss  to  us.” 

44  A gain,  Edith  ?” 

44  Yes,  a gain  in  all  that  is  worth  having  in  life — 
peace  of  mind  flowing  from  a consciousness  of  right 
action.  Will  money  buy  this  ? No,  Edward.  High- 
ly as  riches  are  esteemed — the  one  great  good  in 
life  as  they  are  regarded — they  never  have  given 
and  never  will  give  this  best  of  all  blessings.  How 
little,  how  very  little  of  the  world’s  happiness,  after 
all,  flows  from  the  possession  of  money.  Did  you 
ever  think  of  that,  ESward  ?” 

44  Perhaps  not.” 

44  And  yet,  is  it  not  worth  a passing  thought  ? Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Casswell  are  rich — we  are  poor.  Which 
do  you  think  the  happiest  ?” 

44  Oh,  we  are  happiest,  a thousand  , times,”  said 
Edward  warmly.  44 1 would  not  exchange  places 
with  him,  were  he  worth  a million  for  every  thou- 
sand.” 

44  Nor  I with  his  wife,”  returned  Edith.  44  So 
money,  in  their  case,  does  not  give  happiness  Now 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


63 


look  at  William  Everhart  and  his  wife.  When  we 
were  married  they  occupied  two  rooms,  at  a low 
rent,  as  we  now  do.  Their  income  was  just  what 
ours  has  been.  Well,  they  enjoyed  life.  We  vi- 
sited them  frequently,  and  they  often  called  to  see 
us.  But  for  a little  ambition  on  the  part  of  both  to 
make  some  show,  they  would  have  possessed  a large 
share  of  that  inestimable  blessing,  contentment.  Af- 


ter a while,  William’s  salary  was  raised  to  one  thou- 
sand dollars.  Then  they  must  have  a whole  house 
to  themselves,  as  if  their  two  nice  rooms  were  not  as 
large  and  comfortable,  and  as  well  suited  to  their 
real  wants  as  before.  They  must,  also,  have  showy 
furniture  for  their  friends  to  look  at.  Were  they 
any  happier  for  this  change  ? — for  this  marked  im- 
provement in  their  external  condition  ? We  have 
talked  this  over  before,  Edward.  No,  they  were 
not.  In  fact,  they  were  not  so  comfortable.  With 
added  means  had  come  a whole  train  of  clamorous 
wants,  that  even  the  doubled  salary  could  not  sup- 

piy-” 


44  Everhart  gets  fifteen  hundred  a year,  now,”  re- 
marked Claire. 

u That  will  account,  then,”  said  Edith,  smiling, 
44  for  Emma’s  unsettled  state  of  mind  when  I last 
saw  her.  New  wants  have  been  created  ; and  they 
have  disturbed  the  former  tranquillity.” 

66  All  are  not  so  foolish  as  they  have  been.  I 
think  we  might  bear  an  increased  income  without 
the  drawbacks  that  have  attended  theirs.” 

44  If  it  had  been  best  for  us,  my  husband,  God 
would  have  provided  it.  It  is  in  his  loving-kindness 
that  he  has  opened  the  way  so  opportunely  for  you 


64 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


to  leave  the  path  of  doubt  and  danger  for  one  of 
confidence  and  safety ; and,  in  doing  it,  he  has  really 
increased  your  salary.” 

“ Increased  it,  Edith  ! Why  do  you  say  that  ?” 
f “ Will  we  not  be  happier  for  the  change  ?”  asked 
Edith,  smiling. 

“I  believe  so.” 

“ Then,  surely,  the  salary  is  increased  by  so 
much  of  heartfelt  pleasure.  Why  do  you  desire  an 
increase  rather  than  a diminution  of  income  ?” 

“ In  order  to  procure  more  of  the  comforts  of 
life,”  was  answered. 

“ Comfort  for  the  body,  and  satisfation  for  the 
mind  ?” 

66  Yes.” 

“ Could  our  bodies  really  enjoy  more  than  they 
now  enjoy  ? They  are  warmly  clothed,  fully  fed, 
and  are  in  good  health.  Is  it  not  so  ?” 

66  It  is.” 

“ Then,  if  by  taking  Mr.  Melleville’s  offer,  you 
lose  nothing  for  the  body,  and  gain  largely  for  the 
mind,  is  not  your  income  increased  ?” 

“Ah,  Edith!”  said  Claire,  fondly,  you  are  a 
wonderful  reasOner.  Who  will  gainsay  such  argu- 
ments ?” 

“ Do  I not  argue  fairly  ? Are  not  my  positions 
sound,  and  my  deductions  clearly  brought  form.” 

“If  I could  always  see  and  feel  as  I do  now,” 
said  Claire,  in  a low,  pleased  tone  of  voice,  “how 
smoothly  would  life  glide  onward.  Money  is  not 
every  thing.  Ah  ! how  fully  that  is  seen.  There 
are  possessions  not  to  be  bought  with  gold.” 

“And  they  are  mental  possessions — states  of  the 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WIN4S. 


65 


mind,  Edward,”  spoke  up  Edith  quickly,  “ Riches 
that  never  fade,  nor  fail ; that  take  to  themselves 
no  wings.  Oh,  let  us  gather  of  these  abundantly, 
as  we  walk  on  our  way  through  life.” 

“ Heaven  has  indeed  blessed  me.”  Such  was  the 
heartfelt  admission  of  Edward  Claire,  made  in  the 
silence  of  his  own  thoughts.  “ With  a different 
wife— a lover  of  the  world  and  its  poor  vanities — 
how  imminent  would  have  been  my  danger  ! Alas  ! 
scarcely  any  thing  less  than  a miracle  would  have 
saved  me.  X shudder  as  I realize  the  fearful  danger 
through  which  X have  just  passed.  I thank  God  for 
so  good  a wife.” 

The  first  inquiry  made  by  Jasper,  when  he  met 
Edward  on  the  next  morning,  was  in  relation  to 
what  he  had  seen  at  the  funeral,  and,  particularly, 
as  to  the  disposition  that  had  been  made  of  the 
child. 

“ X took  her  home  with  me,”  was  replied,  in 
answer  to  a direct  question. 

“ You  did!”  Jasper  seemed  taken  by  surprise. 
“ How  came  that,  Edward  ?” 

“ When  X returned  from  the  cemetery,  X found 
the  domestic  ready  to  leave  the  house.  Of  course 
the  poor  child  could  not  remain  there  alone ; so  X 
took  her  home  with  me  for  the  night.” 

66  How  did  your  wife  like  that  ?”  asked  Jasper, 
with  something  in  his  tone  that  showed  a personal 
interest  in  the  reply. 

“ Yery  well.  I did  just  what  she  would  have  done 
under  the  circumstances.” 

“ You  have  only  one  child,  I believe  ?”  said  Jasper* 
after  a pause  of  some  moments. 

6* 


66 


true  riches;  or, 


“ That  is  all.”  ‘ 

“ Only  three  in  family  ?” 

“ Only  three.’7 

“ How  would  you  like  to  increase  it  ? Suppose 
you  keep  this  child  of  Elder’s,  now  she  is  with  you. 
I have  been  looking  a little  into  the  affairs  of  the 
estate,  and  find  that  there  are  two  houses,  un- 
incumbered, that  are  rented  each  for  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  a year.  Of  course,  you  will  re- 
ceive a reasonable  sum  for  taking  care  of  the  child. 
What  do  you  say  to  it  ? As  executor,  I will  pay 
you  five  dollars  a week  for  boarding  and  clothing 
her  until  she  is  twelve  years  of  age.  After  that,  a 
new  arrangement  can  be  made.” 

“I  can’t  give  an  answer  until  I consult  my 
wife,”  said  Claire,  in  reply  to  so  unexpected  a 
proposition. 

“ Urge  her  to  accept  the  offer,  Edward.  Just 
think  what  it  will  add  to  your  income.  I’m  sure  it 
won’t  cost  you  one-half  the  sum,  weekly,  that  I have 
specified,  to  find  the  child  in  every  thing.” 

“ Perhaps  not.  But  all  will  depend  on  my  wife. 
We  are  living,  now,  in  two  rooms,  and  keep  no  do- 
mestic. An  addition  of  one  to  our  family  might  so 
increase  her  care  and  labour  as  to  make  a servant 
necessary.  Then  we  should  have  to  have  an  addi- 
tional room ; the  rent  of  which  and  the  wages  and 
board  of  the  servant  would  amount  to  nearly  a? 
much  as  we  would  receive  from  you  on  account  of 
the  child.” 

“ Yes,  I see  that,”  returned  Jasper.  And  he 
mused  for  some  moments.  He  was  particularly 
anxious  that  Claire  should  take  the  orphan,  for  then 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


67 


all  the  trouble  of  looking  after  and  caring  for  her 
would  be  taken  from  him,  and  that  would  be  a good 
deal  gained. 

“ I'll  tell  you  what,  Edward,”  he  added.  “ If  you 
will  take  her,  I will  call  the  sum  six  dollars  a week 
—or  three  hundred  a year.  That  will  make  the 
matter  perfectly  easy.  If  your  wife  does  not  seem 
at  first  inclined,  talk  to  her  seriously.  This  ad- 
dition to  your  income  will  be  a great  help.  To  show 
tier  that  I am  perfectly  in  earnest,  and  that  you 
can  depend  on  receiving  the  sum  specified,  I will 
draw  up  a little  agreement,  which,  if  all  parties  are 
satisfied,  can  be  signed  at  once.” 

Claire  promised  to  talk  the  matter  over  with  his 
wife  at  dinner-time. 

The  morning  did  not  pass  without  varied  assaults 
upon  the  young  man’s  recent  good  resolutions. 
Several  times  he  had  customers  in  from  whom  it 
would  have  been  easy  to  get  more  than  a fair  profit, 
but  he  steadily  adhered  to  what  he  believed  to  be 
right,  notwithstanding  Jasper  once  or  twice  ex 
pressed  dissatisfaction  at  his  not  having  made  better 
sales,  and  particularly  at  his  failing  to  sell  a 
piece  of  doth,  because  he  would  not  pledge  his 
word  as  to  its  colour  and  quality — neither  of  which 
were  good. 

The  proposition  of  Jasper  for  him  to  make,  in 
his  family,  a place  for  the  orphan,  caused  Claire  to 
postpone  the  announcement  of  his  intention  to  leave 
his  service,  until  after  he  had  seen  and  conferred 
with  his  wife. 

At  the  usual  dinner-hour,  Claire  returned  home. 
His  mind  had  become  by  this  time  somewhat  dis* 


68 


TRUE  RICHES  ; OR, 


turbed.  The  long-cherished  love  of  money,  sub- 
dued for  a brief  season,  was  becoming  active  again* 
Here  were  six  dollars  to  be  added,  weekly,  to  his 
income,  provided  his  wife  approved  the  arrangement, 
- — and  it  was  to  come  through  Jasper.  The  more 
he  thought  of  this  increase,  the  more  his  natural 
cupidity  was  stirred,  and  the  less  willing  he  felt  to 
give  up  the  proposed  one  hundred  dollars  in  his 
salary.  If  he  persisted  in  leaving  Jasper,  there 
would,  in  all  probability,  be  a breach  between  them, 
and  this  would,  he  felt  certain,  prevent  an  arrange- 
ment that  he  liked  better  and  better  the  more  he 
thought  about  it.  He  was  in  this  state  of  mind 
when  he  arrived  at  home. 

On  pushing  open  the  door  of  their  sitting-room, 
the  attention  of  Claire  was  arrested  by  the  ani- 
mated expression  of  his  wife’s  face.  She  raised 
her  finger  to  enjoin  silence.  Tripping  lightly 
to  his  side,  she  drew  her  arm  within  his,  and 
whispered — 

“ Come  into  the  chamber,  dear — tread  softly — 
there,  isn’t  that  sweet  ? — isn’t  it  lovely  ?” 

The  sight  was  lovely  indeed.  A pillow  had  been 
chrown  on  the  floor,  and  upon  this  lay  sleeping,  am 
in  arm,  the  two  children.  Pressed  close  together 
were  their  rosy  cheeks ; and  the  sunny  curls  of 
Fanny  Elder  were  mixed,  like  gleams  of  sunshine, 
amid  the  darker  ringlets  that  covered  profusely  the 
head  of  little  Edith. 

“ Did  you  ever  see  any  thing  so  beautiful?”  said 
the  delighted  mother. 

“ What  a picture  it  would  make !”  remarked  Ed* 
ward,  who  was  charmed  with  the  sight. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


69 


“ Oh,  lovely ! How  I would  like  just  such  a 
picture  !” 

“ She  is  a beautiful  child/'  said  Edward. 

“ Very,”  was  the  hearty  response.  “ Very — and 
bo  sweet-tempered-  and  winning  in  her  ways.  I)o 
you  know,  I am  already  attached  to  her.  And  little 
Edie  is  so  delighted.  They  have  played  all  the 
morning  like  kittens  ; and  a little  while  ago  lay 
down,  just  as  you  see  them — tired  out,  I suppose- — 
and  fell  off  to  sleep.  It  must  have  been  hard  for  the 
mother  to  part  with  that  child — hard,  very  hard.” 

And  Mrs.  Claire  sighed. 

“ You  will  scarcely  be  willing  to  give  her  up,  if 
she  remains  here  long,”  said  Edward. 

“ I don’t  know  how  I should  feel  to  part  from 
her,  even  now.  Oh,  isn’t  it  sad  to  think  that  she 
has  no  living  soul  to  love  or  care  for  her  in  the 
world.” 

“ Mr.  Jasper  is  her  guardian,  you  know.” 

“ Yes  ; and  such  a guardian  !” 

“ I should  not  like  to  have  my  child  dependent 
on  his  tender  mercies,  certainly.  But  he  will  have 
little  to  do  with  her  beyond  paying  the  bills  for  her 
maintenance.  He  will  place  her  in  some  family  to 
board ; and  her  present  comfort  and  future  well- 
being will  depend  very  much  upon  the  character  of 
the  persons  who  have  charge  of  her.” 

Edith  sighed. 

“I  wish,”  said  she,  after  a pause,  “that  we  were 
able  to  take  her.  But  we  are  not.” 

And  she  sighed  again. 

“ Mr.  Jasper  will  pay  six  dollars  a week  to  any 


70 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


one  who  will  take  the  entire  care  of  her  until  she  is 
twelve  years  of  age.” 

“ Will  he?”  A sudden  light  had  gleamed  over 
the  face  of  Mrs.  Claire. 

. “Yes;  he  said  so  this  morning.” 

“ Then,  why  may  not  we  take  her  ? I am  will- 
ing,” was  Edith’s  quick  suggestion. 

“ It  is  a great  care  and  responsibility,”  said  Ed- 
ward. 

“ I shall  not  feel  it  so.  When  the  heart  prompts, 
duty  becomes  a pleasure.  0 yes,  dear,  let  us  take 
the  child  by  all  means.” 

“ Can  we  make  room  for  her  ?” 

“ Why  not  ? Her  little  bed,  in  a corner  of  our 
chamber,  will  in  noway  incommode  us ; and  through 
the  day  she  will  be  a companion  for  Edie.  If  you 
could  only  have  seen  how  sweetly  they  played  to- 
gether ! Edie  has  not  been  half  the  trouble  to-day 
that  she  usually  is.” 

“ It  will  rest  altogether  with  you,  Edith,”  sail 
Claire,  seriously.  “In  fact,' Mr.  Jasper  proposed 
that  we  should  take  Fanny.  I did  not  give  him 
much  encouragement,  however.” 

“Have  you  any  objection,  dear?”  asked  Edith. 

“ None.  The  sum  to  be  paid  weekly  will  moro 
than  cover  the  additional  cost  of  housekeeping.  If 
you  are  prepared  for  the  extra  duties  that  must 
come,  I have  nothing  to  urge  against  the  arrange- 
ment.” 

“ If  extra  duties  are  involved,  I will  perform  them 
as  a labour  of  love.  Without  the  sum  to  be  paid 
for  the  child’s  maintenance,  I would  have  been 
ready  to  take  her  in  and  let  her  share  our  home. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


71 


She  is  now  in  the  special  guardianship  of  the  Father 
of  the  fatherless,  and  he  will  provide  for  her,  no 
matter  who  become  the  almoners  of  his  bounty. 
This  is  my  faith,  Edward,  and  in  this  faith  I would 
have  freely  acted  even  without  the  provision  that 
has  been  made/’ 

“ Let  it  be  then,  as  you  wish,  Edith.” 

‘ How  providential  this  increase  of  our  income, 
Edward!”  said  his  wife,  soon  afterward,  while  the 
subject  of  taking  Fanny  into  their  little  household 
was  yet  the  burden  of  their  conversation.  “We 
shall  gain  here  all,  and  more  than  all  that  will  be 
lost  in  giving  up  your  situation  with  Mr.  Jasper. 
Did  I not  say  to  you  that  good  would  come  of  this 
guardianship ; and  is  there  not,  even  now,  a fore- 
shadowing of  things  to  come?” 

“Perhaps  there  is,”  replied  Edward  thoughtfully. 
“But  my  eye  of  faith  is  not  so  clear  as  yours.” 
“Let  me  see  for  you  then,  dear,”  said  Edith,  in 
a tender  voice.  “ I am  an  earnest  confider  in  the 
gook  purposes  of  our  Heavenly  Father.  I trust  in 
them,  as  a ship  trusts  in  its  well-grounded  anchor. 
That,  in  summing  up  the  events  of  our  life,  when 
the  time  of  our  departure  comes,  we  shall  see 
clearly  that  each  has  been  wisely  ordered  or  pro- 
vided for  by  One  who  is  infinitely  good  and  wise,  I 
never  for  an  instant  doubt.  Oh,  if  you  could  only 
see  with  me,  eye  to  eye,  Edward ! But  you  will, 
love,  you  will — that  my  heart  assures  me.  It  may  be 
some  time  yet — but  it  will  come.” 

“May  it  come  right  speedily!”  was  the  fervent 
response  of  Edward  Claire. 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


f2 


CHAPTER  VII. 

“ Well,  Edward,  what  does  your  wife  say  V9 
Such  was  the  inquiry  of  Jasper,  immediately  on 
the  return  of  his  clerk  from  dinner. 

“ There  will  be  no  difficulty,  so  far  as  she  is  con- 
cerned/’ the  young  man  answered. 

“None,  did  you  say,  Edward ?” 

“None.  She  is x willing  to  take  the  child,  under 
the  arrangement  you  propose.” 

“ That  is,  for  three  hundred  dollars  a year,  to 
find  her  in  every  thing  ?” 

“Yes;  until  she  is  twelve  years  of  age.” 

“ So  I understand  it.  After  that,  as  the  expense 
of  her  clothing  and  education  will  increase,  we  can 
make  a new  arrangement.  Very  well.  I’m  glad 
you  have  decided  to  take  the  child.  It  won’t  cost 
you  six  dollars  a week,  for  the  present,  I am  sure : 
so  the  additional  income  will  be  quite  a help  to  you.” 
“ I don’t  know  how  that  will  be.  At  any  rate, 
we  are  willing  to  take  the  child  into  our  family.” 

“ Suppose  then,  Edward,  we  mutually  sign  this 

little  agreement  to  that  effect,  which  I have  drawn 

__  ^ >> 

up . 

And  Jasper  took  a paper  from  his  desk,  which  he 
handed  to  Ed^ward. 

“ I’ve  no  objection,”  said  the  latter,  after  he  had 
read  it  over.  “ It  binds  me  to  the  maintenance  of 
the  child  until  she  is  twelve  years  of  age,  and  you 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


73 


to  the  payment  therefor  of  three  hundred  dollars  a 
vear,  in  quarterly  payments  of  seventy-five  dollars 
each.” 

“ Yes,  that  is  the  simple  statement  of  the  matter. 
You  see,  I have  prepared  duplicates : one  for  you, 
and  one  for  myself.  I will  sign  them  first. 

And  Jasper  took  a pen  and  placed  upon  each  of 
the  documents  his  sign-manual. 

Claire  did  the  same ; and  a clerk  witnessed  the 
signatures.  Each,  then,  took  a copy.  Thus,  quickly 
and  fully,  was  the  matter  arranged. 

This  fact  of  giving  to  the  contract  a legal  form, 
was,  under  the  circumstances,  the  very  thing  Claire 
most  desired.  He  -had  already  begun  to  see  diffi- 
culties ahead,  so  soon  as  he  announced  his  intention 
of  leaving  Jasper’s  service ; particularly,  as  no  rea- 
son that  he  could  give  would  satisfy  the  merchant  ■ 
difficulties  growing  out  of  this  new  relation  as  the 
personal  guardian  of  little  Fanny  Elder.  The  sign- 
ing of  a regular  contract  for  the  payment  of  a certain 
sum  of  money,  quarterly,  for  the  child  s maintenance, 
gave  him  a legal  right  to  collect  that  sum,  should 
Jasper,  from  any  change  of  feeling,  be  disposed  at 
some  future  time  to  give  him  trouble.  This  was 
something  gained. 

It  was  with  exceeding  reluctance  that  Claire 
forced  himself,  during  the  afternoon,  to  announce 
his  intention  to  leave  Mr.  Jasper.  Had  he  not  pro- 
mised Mr.  Melleville  and  his  wife  to  do  this,  it  would 
certainly  have  been  postponed  for  the  present ; per- 
haps altogether.  But  his  word  was  passed  to  both 
of  them,  and  he  felt  that  to  defer  the  matter  would 
be  wrong.  So,  an  opportunity  offering,  he  said— 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


74 


“ I believe,  Mr.  Jasper,  that  I shall  have  to  leave 
you.” 

“ Leave  me,  Edward!”  Mr.  Jasper  was  taken 
altogether  by  surprise.  “ What  is  the  meaning  of 
this  ? You  have  expressed  no  dissatisfaction.  What 
is  wTrong?” 

The  position  of  Edward  was  a trying  one.  He 
could  not  state  the  true  reasons  for  wishing  to  leave 
his  present  situation,  without  giving  great  offence, 
and  making,  perhaps,  an  enemy.  This  he  wished, 
if  possible,  to  avoid.  A few  days  before  he  would 
not  have  scrupled  at  the  broadest  equivocation,  or 
even  at  a direct  falsehood.  But  there  had  been  a 
birth  of  better  principles  in  his  mind,  and  he  was 
in  the  desire  to  let  them  govern  his  conduct.  As 
he  did  not  answer  promptly  the  question  of  Jasper 
as  to  his  reasons  for  wishing  to  leave  him,  the  latter 
said — 

“ This  seems  to  be  some  sudden  purpose,  Edward. 
Are  you  going  to  receive  a higher  salary  ?” 

Still  Edward  did  not  reply ; but  looked  worried 
and  irresolute.  Taking  it  for  granted  that  no  mo- 
tive but  a pecuniary  one  could  have  prompted  this 
desire  for  change,  Jasper  continued — 

“ I have  been  satisfied  with  you,  Edward.  You 
seem  to  understand  me,  and  to  comprehend  my  mode 
of  doing  business.  I have  found  you  industrious, 
prompt,  and  cheerful  in  performing  your  duties. 
These  are  qualities  not  always  to  be  obtained.  I do 
not,  therefore,  wish  to  part  with  you.  If  a hundred, 
or  even  a hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a year,  will  be 
any  consideration,  yo*ir  salary  is  increased  from 
to-day.” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


75 


This,  to  Edward,  was  unexpected.  He  felt  more 
bewildered  and  irresolute  than  at  first.  So  import- 
ant an  advance  in  his  income,  set  against  a reduc- 
tion of  the  present  amount,  was  a strong  temptation, 
and  he  felt  his  old  desires  for  money  arraying  them- 
selves in  his  mind. 

“ I will  think  over  your  offer,”  said  he.  “ I did 
not  expect  this.  In  the  morning  I will  be  prepared 
to  decide.” 

“Very  well,  Edward.  If  you  remain,  your  salary 
will  be  increased  to  six  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.” 

To  Claire  had  now  come  another  hour  of  dark- 
ness. The  little  strength,  just  born  of  higher  prin- 
ciples, was  to  be  sorely  tried.  Gold  was  in  one  scale, 
and  the  heavenly  riches  that  are  without  wings  in 
the  other.  Which  was  to  overbalance  ? 

The  moment  Claire  entered  the  presence  of  his 
wife,  on  returning  home  that  evening,  she  saw  that  a 
change  had  taken  place — an  unfavourable  change ; 
and  a shadow  fell  upon  her  pure  spirit. 

“ I spoke  to  Mr.  Jasper  about  leaving  him,”  he 
remarkedr  soon  after  he  came  in. 

“ What  did  he  say  ?”  inquired  Edith. 

“ He  does  not  wish  me  to  go.” 

“ I do  not  wonder  at  that.  But,  of  course,  he  is 
governed  merely  by  a selfish  regard  to  his  own  in- 
terests.” 

“ He  offers  to  increase  my  salary  to  six  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars,”  said  Edward,  in  a voice  that  left 
his  wife  in  no  doubt  as  to  the  effect  which  this  had 
produced. 

“A  thousand  dollars  a year,  Edward,”  was  the 
serious  answer,  “ would  be  a poor  compensation  for 


76 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


such  services  as  he  requires.  Loss  of  self-respect,  loss 
of  honour,  loss  of  the  immortal  soul,  are  all  involved. 
Think  of  this,  my  dear  husband ! and  do  not  for  a 
moment  hesitate.” 

But  Edward  did  hesitate.  This  unexpected  offer 
of  so  important  an  increase  in  his  salary  had  ex- 
cited his  love  of  money,  temporarily  quiescent.  He 
saw  in  such  an  increase  a great  temporal  good  ; and 
this  obscured  his  perception  of  a higher  good,  which, 
a little  while  before,  had  been  so  clear. 

“ I am  not  so  sure,  Edith,”  said  he,  “ that  all  these 
sad  consequences  are  necessarily  involved.  I am 
under  no  obligation  to  deal  unfairly  with  his  custom- 
ers. My  duty  will  be  done,  when  I sell  to  them  all 
I can  at  a fair  profit.  If  he  choose  to  take  an  excess 
of  profit  in  his  own  dealing,  that  is  his  affair.  I 
need  not  be  partaker  in  his  guilt.”  • 

“ Edward!”  returned  his  wife,  laying  her  hand 
upon  his  arm,  and  speaking  in  a low,  impressive 
voice — “Do  you  really  believe  that  you  can  give  sa- 
tisfaction to  Mr.  Jasper  in  all  things,  and  yet  keep 
your  conscience  void  of  offence  before  God  and  man  ? 
Think  of  his  character  and  requirements — think  of' 
the  kind  of  service  you  have,  in  too  many  instances, 
rendered  him — and  then  say  whether  it  will  be  pos* 
sible  to  satisfy  him  without  putting  in  jeopardy  all 
that  a man  should  hold  dear — all  that  is  worth  liv- 
ing for  ? Oh,  Edward  ! do  not  let  this  offer  blind 
you  for  a moment  to  the  real  truth.” 

“ Then  you  would  have  me  reject  the  offer  V" 

“ Without  an  instant’s  hesitation,  Edward.” 

“It  is  a tempting  one.  And  then,  look  at  tho 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


77 


other  side,  Edith.  Only  four  hundred  dollars  a year, 
instead  of  six  hundred  and  fifty.’ ’ 

“I  feel  it  as  no  temptation.  The  latter  sum,  in 
the  present  case,  is  by  far  the  better  salary,  for  it 
will  give  us  higher  sources  of  enjoyment.  What  are 
millions  of  dollars,  and  a disquiet  mind,  compared 
to  a few  hundreds,  and  sweet  peace  ? If  you  remain 
with  Jasper,  an  unhappy  spirit  will  surely  steal  into 
our  dwelling — if  you  take,  for  the  present,  your  old 
place  with  Mr.  Melleville,  how  brightly,  will  each 
morning’s  sun  sfiine  in  upon  us,  and  how  calmly  will 
the  blessed  evening  draw  around  her  curtains  of  re- 
pose !”  • % 

Edith  had  always  possessed  great  influence  over 
her  husband.  He  loved  her  very  tenderly ; and  was 
ever  loth  to  do  any  thing  to  which  she  made  oppo- 
sition. She  was  no  creature  of  mere  impulse — of 
weak  caprices — of  captious,  yet  unbending  will.  If 
she  opposed  her  husband  in  any  thing,  it  was  on  the 
ground  of  its  non-agreement  with  just  principles ; 
and  she  always  sustained  her  positions  with  the 
clearest  and  most  direct  modes  of  argumentation. 
Not  with  elaborate  reasonings,  but  rather  in  the  de- 
claration of  things  self-evident — the  quick  percep- 
tions of  a pure,  truth-loving  mind.  How  inestima- 
ble the  blessing  of  such  a wife  ! 

“ No  doubt  you  have  the  better  reason  on  your 
sile,  Edith,”  replied  her  husband,  his  manner  very 
much  subdued.  “ But  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  unclasp 
my  hand  to  let  fall  therefrom  the  natural  good  wrhich 
I can  see  and  estimate,  for  the  seemingly  unreal 
and  unsubstantial  good  that,  to  your  purer  vision, 
looms  up  so  imposingly.” 


*8 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


“ Unreal — unsubstantial — Edward  !”  said  Edith, 
in  reply  to  this.  “ Are  states  of  mind  unreal  ?” 

“ I have  not  always  found  them  so,”  was  answered. 

“ Is  happiness,  or  misery,  unreal  ? Oh,  are  they 
not  our  most  palpable  realizations  ? It  is  not  mere 
wealth  that  is  sought  for  as  an  end — that  is  not  the 
natural  good  for  which  the  many  are  striving.  It  is 
the  mental  enjoyment  that  possession  promises — the 
state  of  mind  that  would  be  gained  through  gold  as 
a means.  Is  it  not  so  ? Think.” 

“ Yes — that  is,  undoubtedly,  the  case.” 

“But,  is  it  possible  for  money  to  give  peace 
and  true  enjoyment,  if,  in  ♦the  spirit,  even  though 
not  in  the  letter,  violence  is  done  to  the  laws  of 
both  God  and  man  ? Can  ill-gotten  gain  produce 
heavenly  beatitudes  ? — and  there  are  none  others.  ( 
The  heart  never  grows  truly  warm  and  joyous  ex- 
cept when  light  from  above  streams  through  the 
darkened  vapours  with  which  earth-fires  have  sur- 
rounded it.  Oh,  my  husband  ! Turn  yourself  away 
from  this  world’s  false  allurements,  and  seek  with 
me  the  true  riches.  Whatever  may  be  your  lot  in 
life — I care  not  how  poor  and  humble — I shall  walk 
erect  and  cheerful  by  your  side,  if  you  have  been 
able  to  keep  a conscience  void  of  offence ; but  if 
this  be  not  so,  and  you  bring  to  me  gold  and  trea- 
sure without  stint,  my  head  will  lie  bowed  upon  my 
bosom,  and  my  heart  throb  in  low,  grief-burdened 
pulsations.  False  lights,  believe  me,  Edward,  are 
hung  out  by  the  world,  and  they  lure  life’s  mariner 
on  to  dangerous  coasts.  Let  us  remain  on  a smooth 
and  sunny  sea,  while  we  can,  and  not  tempt  the 
troubled  and  uncertain  wave,  unless  duty  requires 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


79 


the  venture.  Then,  with  virtue  at  the  helm,  and  the 
light  of  God's  love  in  the  sky,  we  will  find  a sure 
haven  at  last.” 

“It  shall  be  as  you  wish,  Edith,”  said  Claire,  as 
he  gazed  with  admiring  affection  into  the  bright  and 
glowing  face  of  his  wife,  that  was  lovely  in  her  beau- 
tiful enthusiasm. 

44  No — no,  Edward  ! Don’t  say  as  I wish,”  was  her 
quick  reply.  44  I cannot  bear  that  you  should  act 
merely  under  my  influence  as  an  external  pressure. 
If  I have  seemed  to  use  persuasion,  it  has  not  been 
to  force  you  over  to  my  way  of  thinking.  But,  can- 
not' you  see  that  I am  right  ? Does  not  your  reason 
approve  of  what  I say  ?” 

46  It  does,  Edith.  I can  see,  as  well  as  feel,  that 
you  are  right.  But,  the  offer  of  a present  good  is  a 
strong  temptation.  I speak  freely.” 

44  And  I thank  you  for  doing  so.  Oh  ! never  con- 
ceal from  me  your  inmost  thoughts.  You  say  that 
you  can  see  as  well  as  feel  that  I am  right  ?” 

44  Yes  ; I freely  acknowledge  that.” 

44  Your  reason  approves  what  I have  said?” 

44  Fully.” 

44  This  tells  you  that  it  will  be  better  for  you  m 
the  end  to  accept  of  four  hundred  dollars  frcm  Mr. 
Melleville,  than  to  remain  with  Mr.  Jasper  at  six 
hundred  and  fifty?” 

44  It  does,  Edith.” 

44  Then,  my  husband,  let  the  reason  which  God 
has  given  to  you  as  a guide,  direct  you  now  in  the 
right  way.  Do  not  act  under  influence  from  me — 
for  then  the  act  will  not  be  freely  your  own — but, 
a £ a truly  rational,  and,  therefore,  a wise  man,  choose 


80 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


now  the  way  in  which  an  enlightened  reason  tells 
you  that  you  ought  to  walk.” 

“ 1 have  chosen,  Edith,”  was  the  young  man’s  low, 
but  firm  reply. 

“How?”  The  wife  spoke  with  a sudden,  trem- 
bling eagerness,  and  held  her  breath  for  an  answer. 

“ I will  leave  my  present  place,  and  return  to  Mr. 
Melleville.” 

“God  be  thanked!”  came  sobbing  from  the  lins* 
of  Edith,  as  she-  threw  herself  in  unrestrained  joy 
upon  the  bosom  of  her  husband. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

“I  don’t  just  understand  this,”  said  Jasper  to 
himself,  after  the  interview  with  his  clerk  described 
in  another  chapter.  “I  thought  him  perfectly  sa- 
tisfied. He  didn’t  say  he  was  offered  a higher  sa- 
lary. Ah  ! guess  I’ve  got  it  now.  It’s  only  a bit  of 
a ruse  on  his  part  to  get  me  to  increase  his  wages. 
I didn’t  think  of  this  before.  Well,  it  has  succeed- 
ed ; and,  in  truth,  he’s  worth  all  I’ve  offered  him. 
Shrewd,  quick,  and  sharp ; he’s  a young  man  just 
to  my  mind.  Should  he  grow  restless  again,  I must 
tempt  him  with  the  idea  of  a partnership  at  .some 
future  period.  If  business  goes  on  increasing,  I 
shall  want  some  one  with  me  whom  I can  trust  and 
depend  on  more  fully  than  on  a clerk.”  • 

Thus,  in  the  mind  of  Jasper,  all  was  settled  ; and 
he  was  fully  prepared,  on  the  next  morning,  when 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS 


81 


he  met,  Edward,  to  hear  from  him  that  ie  would  r& 
main  in  his  service.  A different  decision  took  him 
altogether  by  surprise. 

“ Where  are  you  going  ?”  he  asked.  Edward 
hesitated  a moment  ere  replying. 

“Back  to  Mr.  Melleville’s.” 

“ To  Melleville’s  ! Will  he  give  you  more  salary 
than  I have  agreed  to  pay  ?” 

“No,”  was  the  answer;  “but  I have  reasons  for 
wishing  to  accept  the  place  he  offers  me.” 

“ Well,  just  as  you  please,”  said  Jasper,  coldly. 
“Every  one  must  suit  himself.” 

And,  with  the  air  of  a person  offended,  he  turned 
hiipself  from  the  young  man.  Soon  after  he  went  out, 
and  did  not  come  back  for  two  or  three  hours.  When 
he  re-entered  the  store  there  was  an  angry  flash  in 
his  eyes,  which  rested  somewhat  sternly  upon  Claire. 
“ Let  me  say  a word  with  you,  Edward.” 

There  happened  to  be  no  customer  in  to  engage 
the  clerk’s  attention,  and  he  retired,  with  his  em- 
ployer, to  the  back  part  of  the  store.  Jasper  then 
turned  and  confronted  him  with  a stern  aspect. 

“ Well,  young  man  !”  said  he  sharply,  “ it  seems 
that  you  have  been  making  rather  free  with  my  good 
name,  of  late ; representing  me  as  a cheat  and  a 
swindler.” 

For  a few  moments  the  mind  of  Claire  was  strong- 
ly excited  and  in  a perfect  maze  of  confusion.  The 
blood  mounted  to  his  face,  and  he  felt  a rising  and 
choking  sensation  in  his  throat.  Wisely  he  forbore 
any  answer  until  he  had  regained  his  self-possession. 
Then,  with  a coolness  that  surprised  oven  himself,  he 
said — 


82 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


“ That’s  a broad  accusation,  Mr.  Jasper,  Will  you 
go  with  me  to  your  authority  ?” 

Jasper  was  not  just  prepared  for  a response  like 
this ; and  he  cooled  down,  instantly,  several  de- 
grees. 

“ My  authority  is  quite  satisfactory,”  he  returned, 
still  manifesting  angry  feeling.  “ That  you  have 
been  slandering  me  is  plain ; and,  also,  betraying 
the  confidential  transactions  of  the  house.  It  is  full 
time  we  parted — full  time.  I didn’t  dream  that  T 
was  warming  an  adder  to  sting  me  ?” 

“I  must  insist,  Mr.  Jasper,”  said  Claire  thinly, 
“ that  you  give  me  your  authority  for  all  this.  Leo 
me  stand  face  to  face  with  the  man  who  has  so 
broadly  accused  me.” 

“ Then  you  deny  it  all  ?” 

“ 1 shall  neither  affirm  nor  deny  any  thing.  You 
have  angrily  accused  me  of  having  done  you  a 
great  wrong.  All  I ask  is  your  authority,  and  tho 
right  to  stand  face  to  face  with  that  authority.  This 
is  no  light  matter,  Mr.  Jasper.” 

“Well  said,  young  man.  It  is  no  light  matter, 
as  you  will,  perhaps,  know  to  your  sorrow  in  the 
end.  Don’t  suppose,  for  a moment,  that  I shall 
either  forget  or  forgive  this  outrage.  Leave  me  be 
cause  I cheat  in  my  business  !”  An  expression  of 
unmitigated  contempt  was  on  his  face.  “Poh! 
What  hypocrisy  ! I know  you  ! And  let  Mr.  Melle- 
ville  beware.  He,  I more  than  suspect,  is  at  the 
bottom  of  this.  But  he’ll  rue  the  day  he  crossed 
my  path — he  will !” 

And  Jasper  ground  his  teeth  in  anger. 

By  this  time,  Claire  had  become  entirely  self-pos- 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


83 


sessed.  He  was  both  surprised  and  troubled ; yet 
concealed,  as  far  as  possible,  the  real  state  of  his 
feelings. 

“ So  far  as  Mr.  Melleville  is  concerned,  ” said  he, 
“ I wish  you  to  understand,  that  I applied  to  him 
for  the  situation.” 

“ Exactly  ! That  is  in  agreement  with  what  I 
heard.  I was  such  a rogue  that  you  could  not  live 
with  me  and  keep  a clear  conscience — so  you  sought 
for  a place  with  an  honest  man.” 

Claire  dropped  his  eyes  to  the  floor,  and  stood 
musing  for  some  considerable  time.  When  he  raised 
them,  he  looked  steadily  at  his  employer  and  said — • 

“Mr.  Jasper,  I never  made  use  of  the  words  you 
have  repeated.” 

“ If  not  the  very  words,  those  of  a like  significa- 
tion ?” 

“ To  whom  ? There  is  no  need  of  concealment, 
Mr.  Jasper.”  Claire  was  feeling  less  and  less  anxious 
for  the  result  of  this  conference  every  moment. 
“ Speak  out  freely,  and  you  will  find  me  ready  to  do 
the  same.  There  had  been  some  underhand  work 
here — or  some  betrayal  of  an  ill-advised  confidence. 
The  former,  I am  most  ready  to  believe.  In  a word, 
sir,  and  to  bring  this  at  once  to  an  issue — your  in- 
formant in  this  matter  is  Henry  Parker,  who  lives 
with  Mr.  Melleville.” 

The  change  instantly  perceptible  in  the  manner 
of  Jasper  showed  that  Edward’s  suspicion  was 
right.  He  had,  all  at  once,  remembered  that,  during 
his  conversation  with  Melleville,  this  young  man  was 
near. 

“ I see  how  it  is,’ J he  continued.  “ An  eavesdrop- 


84 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


per  has  reported,  with  his  own  comments  and  exag- 
gerations, a strictly  confidential  interview.  Such 
being  the  case,  I will  state  the  plain  truth  of  the 
matter.  Are  you  prepared  to  hear  it  ?” 

44  Oh,  certainly,  ” replied  Jasper,  with  a covert 
sneer  in  his  voice.  44  I’m  prepared  to  hear  any  thing.” 
“Very  well.  What  I have  to  say  is  now  wrung 
from  me.  I did  not  wish  to  leave  you  in  anger.  I 
did  not  wish  to  draw  upon  me  your  ill-will.  But, 
what  is  unavoidable  must  be  borne.  It  is  true,  Mr. 
Jasper,  as  you  have  been  informed,  that  I am  not 
satisfied  with  your  way  of  doing  business.” 

44  How  long  since,  pray  ?”  asked  Jasper,  with  ill- 
disguised  contempt. 

64 1 did  not  like  it  in  the  beginning,  but  gradual- 
ly suffered  myself  to  think  that  all  was  fair  in  trade, 
until  I found  I was  no  better  than  a common  cheat ! 
Happily,  I have  been  able  to  make  a sudden  pause 
in  the  way  I was  going.  From  this  time,  I will 
serve  no  man  who  expects  me  to  overreach  a cus- 
tomer in  dealing.  .So  soon  as  my  mind  was  fully 
made  up  to  leave  your  employment,  I called  to  see 
my  old  friend,  Mr.  Melleville  ; stated  to  him,  frank- 
ly and  fully,  what  I thought  and  felt ; and  asked, 
him  if  he  could  not  make  room  for  me  in  his  store. 
Barker  doubtless  overheard  a part  of  what  we  were 
saying,  and  reported  it  to  you.  I would,  let  me  say 
in  passing,  much  rather  hold  my  i elation  to  this  un- 
pleasant business  than  his.  Mr.  Melleville  offered 
me  my  old  salary — four  hundred  dollars — and  I 
agreed  to  enter  his  service.” 

44  Four  hundred  dollars  !”  Jasper  said  this  in  un* 
feigned  surprise. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


85 


« Yes,  sir;  that  is  all  he  can  afford  to  pay,  and  of 
course  all  I will  receive.’7 

“ And  I offered  you  six  hundred  and  fifty. 

“ True.” 

“ Edward,  you  are  the  most  consummate  fool  I 
ever  heard  of.” 

“ Time  will  show  that,”  was  the  undisturbed  reply. 
« I have  made  my  election  thoughtfully,  and  am  pre- 
pared to  meet  the  result.”  # 9f 

“ You’ll  repent  of  this  ; mark  my  word  for  it. 

“I  may  regret  your  ill-will,  Mr.  Jasper;  but 
never  repent  this  step.  I’m  only  thankful  that  I 
possessed  sufficient  resolution  to  take  it. 

“ When  are  you  going  ?” 

“ Not  before  the  end  of  this  month, , unless  you 
wish  it  otherwise.  I would  like  to  give  you  full 

time  to  supply  my  place.” 

66  You  can  go  at  once,  if  it  so  please  you.  In  fact, 
after  what  has  just  passed,  I don  t see  how  you  can 
remain,  or  I tolerate  your  presence.” 

a I am  ready  for  this,  Mr.  Jasper,”  coolly  replied 
the  young  man. 

“ How  much  is  due  you  ?”  was  inquired,  after  a 

brief  silence.  < 

66  Twenty-five  dollars,  I believe,”  answered  Claire. 
Jasper  threw  open  a ledger  that  lay  on  the  desk, 
and,  turning  to  the  young  .man’s  account,  ran  his 
eyes  up  the  two  columns  of  figures,  and  then  struck 
a balance. 

“ Just  twenty-seven  dollars,”  said  he,  after  a.  se- 
cond examination  of  the  figures.  64  And  here  s the 
money,”  he  added,  as  he  took  some  bills  from  the 

desk  and  counted  out  the  sum  just  mentioned.  44  Now 

8 


86 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


sign  me  a receipt  in  full  to  date,  and  that  ends  the 
matter.” 

The  receipt  was  promptly  signed. 

“ And  now,”  sneered  Jasper,  bowing  with  mock 
deference,  “ I wish  you  joy  of  your  better  place. 
You  will,  in  all  probability,  hear  from  me  again. 
I haven’t  much  faith  in  your  over-righteous  people  ; 
and  will  do  myself  the  justice  to  make  some  very 
careful  examinations  into  your  doings  since  you  en- 
tered my  service.  If  all  is  right,  well ; if  not,  it 
won’t  be  good  for  you.  I’m  not  the  man  to  forgive 
ingratitude,  injury,  and  insult — of  all  three  of  which 
you  have  been  guilty.” 

u We  will  not  bandy  words  on  that  subject, 
Mr.  Jasper,”  said  Claire — UI  simply  deny  that  I 
have  been  guilty  of  either  of  the  faults  you  al- 
lege. As  for  an  investigation  into  my  business 
conduct,  that  you  can  do  as  early  and  as  thoroughly 
as  you  please.  I shall  feel  no  anxiety  for  the 
result.” 

Jasper  did  not  reply.  For  a few  moments  the 
young  man  stood  as  if  expecting  some  remark ; 
none  being  made,  he  turned  away,  gathered  to- 
gether a few  articles  that  were  his  own  private  pro- 
perty, tied  them  into  a bundle  and  marked  his  name 
thereon.  Then  bowing  to  the  merchant,  he  retired 
— oppressed  from  recent  painful  excitement,  yet 
glad,  in  his  inmost  feelings,  that  a connection  so 
dangerous  as  that  with  Jasper  had  been  dissolved— 
dissolved  even  at  the  cost  of  making  an  enemy. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


87 


CHAPTER  IX. 

As  no  event  o£  particularly  marked  interest  oc- 
curred with  those  whose  histories  we  are  writing, 
during  the  next  few  years,  we  will  pass  over  that 
time  without  a record.  Some  changes  of  more  or 
less  importance  have  taken  place,  in  the  natural 
progress  of  things  ; hut  these  will  become  apparent 
as  we  pursue  the  narrative.  # r . 

A dull,  damp  November  day  was  losing  itsell  m 
the  sombre  twilight,  when  Edward  Claire  left  the 
store  of  Mr.  Melleville,  and  took  his  way  homeward. 
An  errand  for  his  wife  led  him  past  his  old  place 
of  business.  As  he  moved  along  the  street,  oppo- 
site, he  noticed  a new  sign  over  the  door,  the  large 
gilt  letters  of  which  were  strongly  reflected  in  the 
light  of  a gas-lamp.  It  bore  the  words,  Jasper  & 

Parker.  . , , TJ,  , , , 

Involuntarily  the  young  man  sighed.  11  he  had 
remained  with  Jasper,  there  was  little  doubt  but 
that  his  name  would  have  been  the  one  now  associ 
ated  with  his  in  a copartnership.  Parker  was  the 
young  man  who  had  betrayed  the  conversation  be- 
tween Claire  and  Mr.  Melleville.  His  end  in  doing 
this  was  to  gain  the  favour  of  Jasper,  and  thus  se- 
cure the  place  left  vacant  by  the  departing  clerk. 
He  had  succeeded  in  his  purpose.  Jasper  offered 
him  the  situation,  and  he  took  it.  Five  years  after- 
ward, in  which  time  Jasper  had  made  money 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


8$ 


rapidly,  he  was  elevated  to  the  position  of  partner, 
with  a fair  interest  in  the  business.  He  had  been 
honest  toward  his  employer,  because  he  saw  that  , 
through  him  there  was  a chance  to  rise.  Honest  in 
heart  he  was  not,  for  he  never  scrupled  to  overreach 
a customer. 

Edward  Claire,  as  we  have  remarked,  sighed  in- 
voluntarily. His  own  prospects  in  life  were  not 
what  are  called  flattering.  His  situation  with  Mr. 
Melleville  was  now  worth  five  hundred  dollars  a 
jrear,  but  his  family  had  increased,  and  with  the 
increase  had  come  new  wants.  The  condition  of 
Mr.  Melleville's  business  gave  him  no  encourage- 
ment to  hope  for  a larger  income  while  in  his  service. 
Several  times  during  the  last  two  years  he  had  made 
application  for  vacant  places,  but  without  success. 
Sometimes  he  felt  restless  and  discouraged,  as  his 
vision  penetrated  the  future ; but  there  was  ever  a 
cheerful  light  at  home  that  daily  dispelled  the 
coming  shadows. 

Scarcely  had  the  sigh  lost  itself  on  the  air,  when 
a hand  was  laid  on  his  arm,  and  an  old  acquaintance 
said — 

“ Ah,  Edward  ! How  are  you  ?” 

Claire  seeing  the  face  of  his  friend,  returned  the 
greeting  cordially. 

“ What  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself 
asked  the  latter.  “ It  is  months,  I believe,  since  1 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you.” 

“Busy  all  day,”  returned  Clare,  “and  anchored 
at  home  in  the  evening.  So  the  time  is  passing.” 

“Pleasantly  and  profitably,  I hope*”  said  the 
friend. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


89 


u Pleasantly  enough,  I will  own,”  was  answered  ; 
“ as  to  the  profit — if  you  mean  in  a money  sense— 
there  is  not  much  to  boast  of.” 

“ You  are  still  with  Melleville  V 9 
“Yes.” 

“ At  what  salary  ?” 

“ Five  hundred.” 

“ Is  that  all  ? How  much  family  have  you  ?” 

“ Three  children  ; or,  I might  say  four  ; but  the 
fourth  brings  us  three  hundred  dollars  a year  for 
her  maintenance.” 

“ That  is  something.” 

“ Oh  yes.  It  is  quite  a help.” 

“ By  the  way,  Edward — the  new  store  we  just 
past  reminds  me  of  it — your  old  friend  Jasper  has 
just  given  one  of  his  clerks,  named  Parker,  an  in- 
terest in  his  business.” 

“ So  I am  aware.” 

“Jasper  is  doing  first-rate.” 

“ He  is  making  money,  I believe.” 

“ Coining  it.  The  fact  is,  Edward,  you  never 
should  have  left  him.  Had  you  kept  that  situation, 
you  would  have  been  the  partner  now.  And, 
by  the  way,  there  was  rather  a strange  story  afloat 
at  the  time  you  took  it  into  your  head  to  leave 
Jasper.” 

“ Ah  ! what  was  it  ?” 

“ It  is  said  that  you  thought  him  a little  too  close 
in  his  dealings,  and  left  him  on  that  account.  I 
hadn’t  given  you  credit  for  quite  so  tender  a con- 
science. How  was  it,  Edward?” 

“ I didn’t  like  his  modes  of  doing  business,  and, 
therefore,  left  him.  So  far  you  heard  truly.” 

8* 


90 


TRUE  RICHEs  ; or, 


“ But  what  had  you  to  do  with  his  modes  of  doin# 
business?” 

“ A great  deal.  As  one  of  his  employees,  I was 
expected  to  carry  out  his  views.” 

“ And  not  being  willing  to  do  that,  you  left  hi® 
service.” 

A That  is  the  simple  story.” 
v “ Excuse  me,  Edward,  but  I can’t  help  calling 
you  a great  fool.  Just  see  how  you  have  stood  in 
your  own  light.  But  for  this  extra  bit  of  virtue, 
for  which  no  one  thinks  a whit  the  better  of  you, 
you  might  this  day  have  been  on  the  road  to  fortune, 
instead  of  Parker.” 

“ I would  rather  be  in  my  own  position  than  in 
his,”  replied  Claire  firmly. 

“ You  would !”  His  companion  evinced  surprise 
“He  is  in  the  sure  road  to  wealth.” 

“ But  not,  I fear,  in  the  way  to  happiness.” 

“ How  can  you  say  that,  Edward  ?” 

“No  man,  who,  in  the  eager  pursuit  of  money 
so  far  forgets  the  rights  of  others  as  to  trample  Oku 
them,  can  be  in  the  way  to  happiness.” 

“Then  you  think  he  tramples  on  the  rights  ol 
others?”  4 

“ I know  but  little,  if  any  thing,  about  him,'1  re- 
plied Claire;  “but  this  I do  know,  that  unleso  Leo- 
nard Jasper  be  a different  man  from 'what  fie  was 
five  years  ago,  fair  dealing  between  man  and  man  is 
a virtue  in  a clerk  that  would  in  nowise  recommend 
him  to  the  position  of  an  associate  in  business. 
His  partner  must  be  shrewd,  sharp,  anfl  unscrupu- 
lous— a lover  of  money  above  every  thing  else — & 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


91 


man  determined  to  rise,  no  matter  who  is  trampled 
down  or  destroyed  in  the  ascent.” 

“ In  business  circles  such  men  are  by  no  means 
scarce.” 

“ I am  aware  of  it.” 

“ And  it  is  unhesitatingly  affirmed  by  many  whom 
I know,  that,  as  the  world  now  is,  no  really  honest 
man  can  trade  successfully.” 

“ That  is  more  than  I am  ready  to  admit.” 

“ The  sharpest  and  shrewdest  get  on  the  best.” 

“ Because  it  is  easier  to  be  sharp  and  shrewd 
than  to  be  intelligent,  persevering,  industrious,  pa- 
tient, and  self-denying.  The  eagerness  to  get  rich 
fast  is  the  bane  of  trade.  I am  quite  ready  to  ad- 
mit that  no  man  can  get  rich  at  railroad  speed,  and 
not  violate  the  law  of  doing  as  you  would  be  done 
• 

66 Doing  as  you  would  be  done  by!  0 dear!” 
said  the  friend ; “ you  certainly  don’t  mean  to 
bring  that  law  down  into  the  actual  life  of  the 
world?” 

“ It  would  be  a happier  world  for  all  of  us  if  this 
law  were  universally  obeyed.” 

“ That  may  be.  But,  where  all  are  selfish,  how 
is  it  possible  to  act  from  an  unselfish  principle?” 
“Do  you  approve  of  stealing?”  said  Claire,  with 
Borne  abruptness. 

“ Of  course  not,”  was  the  half-indignant  answer. 
“ I need  not  have  asked  the  question,  for  I now 
remember  to  have  seen  the  fact  noticed  in  one  of 
our  papers,  that  an  unfaithful  domestic  in  your  fa- 
mily had  been  handed  over  to  the  police.” 

“True.  She  was  a thief , Wc  found  in  her 


92 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


trunk  a number  of  valuable  articles  that  she  had 
stolen  from  us.” 

“ And  you  did  right.  You  owed  this  summary 
justice  as  well  to  the  purloiner  as  to  the  public. 

; Now,  there  are  many  ways  of  stealing,  besides  this 
direct  mode.  If  I deprive  you  of  your  property 
with  design,  I steal  from  you.  Isn’t  that  clear?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ And  I am,  to  use  plain  words,  a thief.  Well, 
now  take  this  easilj  to  be  understood  case.  I have 
a lot  of  goods  to  sell,  and  you  wish  to  purchase  them. 
In  the  trade  I manage  to  get  from  you,  through  di- 
rect misrepresentation,  or  in  a tacit  advantage  of 
your  ignorance,  more  than  the  goods  are  really 
worth.  Do  I not  cheat  you?” 

'4  Undoubtedly.” 

And  having  purposely  deprived  you  of  a portion 
of  your  money,  am  I not  a thief?” 

“ In  all  that  goes  to  make  up  the  morality  of  the 
case,  you  are.” 

“ The  truth,  unquestionably.  Need  I proceed 
further  ? By  your  own  admission,  every  business- 
man who  takes  undue  advantage  of  another  in  deal- 
ing, steals.” 

“ Pretty  close  cutting,  that,  friend  Claire.  It 
wouldn’t  do  to  talk  that  right  out  at  all  times  and 
in  all  places.” 

“ Why  not?” 

“ I rather  think  it  would  make  some  people  feel 
bad  ; and  others  regard  themselves  as  insulted.”  . 

u I can  believe  so.  But  we  are  only  talking  this 
between  ourselves.  And  now  I come  back  to  my 
father  abrupt  question — Do  you  approve  of  steal- 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


93 


ing?  No,  you  say,  as  a matter  of  course.  And 
yet,  you  but  just  now  were  inclined  to  justify  sharp 
dealing,  on  the  ground  that  all  were  sharpers — quot- 
ing the  saying  of  some,  that  no  honest  man  could 
trade  successfully  in  the  present  time.  For  the  di- 
rect stealing  of  a few  articles  of  trifling  value,  you 
hand  a poor,  ignorant  domestic  over  to  the  police, 
yet  feel  no  righteous  indignation  against  the  better- 
taught  man  of  business,  who  daily  robs  his  customers 
in  some  one  form  or  another.’ ’ 

“ You  are  too  serious  by  far,  Edward,”  returned 
his  companion,  forcing  a laugh.  66  Your  mind  has 
fallen  into  a morbid  state.  But  you  will  get  over 
this  one  of  these  times.  Good  evening  ! Our  ways 
part  here.  Good  evening  !” 

And  the  young  man  turned  off  abruptly. 

“A  morbid  state,”  mused  Claire  to  himself,  as 
he  continued  on  alone.  u So  thousands  would  say. 
But  is  it  so  ? Is  honesty  or  dishonesty  the  morbid 
state  ? How  direct  a question ! How  plain  the 
answer  ! Honesty  is  health — dishonesty  the  soul’s 
sickness.  To  be  honest,  is  to  live  in  obedience  to 
social  and  divine  laws ; dishonesty  is  the  violation 
of  these.  Is  it  possible  for  a diseased  body  to  give 
physical  enjoyment  ? No ! Nor  can  a diseased 
mind  give  true  mental  enjoyment.  To  seek  happi- 
n<ss  in  the  possession  of  wealth  obtained  through 
wrong  to  the  neighbour,  is  as  fruitless  as  to  seek 
bodily  pleasure  in  those  practices  which  inevitably 
destroy  the  health.  To  me,  this  is  self-evident,  and 
may  God  give  me  strength  to  live  according  to  my 
clear  convictions !” 

The  very  earnestness  with  which  Claire  mentally 


94 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


confirmed  himself  in  his  honest  convictions,  and 
especially  his  upward  looking  for  strength  in  con- 
scious weakness,  showed  that  his -mind  was  in  tempt- 
ation. He  had  felt  somewhat  depressed  during  the 
day,  in  view  of  his  external  relation  to  the  world ; 
and  this  feeling  was  increased  by  his  observation  pf 
the  fact  that  Parker  had  been  advanced  to  the  po- 
sition of  a partner  to  his  old  employer.  It  seemed 
like  a reward  for  unfair  dealing,  while  honesty  was 
suffered  to  remain  poor.  The  young  man’s  en- 
lightened reason — enlightened  during  five  years’ 
earnest  search  after  and  practice  of  higher  truths 
than  govern  in  the  world’s  practice — strongly  com- 
bated all  the  false  arguments  that  were  presented 
to  his  mind,  during  this  season  of  his  overshadowing. 
The  combat  was  severe,  and  still  continued  on  his 
arrival  at  home — causing  his  mind  to  be  in  a mea- 
sure depressed. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  increase  of  Claire’s  family  had  caused  him, 
some  time  before,  to  remove  from  the  two  comfort- 
able rooms  in  which  were  passed  the  first  pleasant 
years  of  his  married  life.  He  now  occupied  a small 
house  in  a retired  street,  the  rent  of  wl\ich,  though 
moderate,  drew  pretty  heavily  on  his  income.  But 
he  had  managed,  through  the  prudent  co-operation 
of  his  wife,  not  only  to  keep  even  with  the  world, 
but  to  lay  by  a small  sum  of  money. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


95 


Few  homes,  in  the  large  city  wherein  dwelt  this 
obscure  family,  were  so  full  of  all  the  elements  of 
happiness.  If,  sometimes,  the  spirit  of  Claire  was 
overshadowed  bypassing  clouds — as  would  unavoid- 
ably happen  from  his  contact  with  the  world,  and  his 
own  variant  states — the  .evening’s  return  to  the  bo- 
som of  his  family,  generally  made  all  bright  again. 

Little  Fanny  Elder,  now  ten  years  of  age,  .had 
been  steadily  growing  into  his  affections  from  the 
first.  It  is  questionable  whether  his  love  for  his 
own  children  was  a purer  passion.  Older,  by  several 
years,  than  Edith,  she  had  been  to  him  more  com 
panionable ; and  had  ever  greeted  his  return  at 
evening  with  warmer  expressions  of  pleasure  than 
were  manifested  by  Edith,  or  the  two  younger 
children  who  had  been  added  to  the  number  of  his 
household  treasures. 

On  this  evening,  as  Claire  drew  nearer  and  nearer 
to  his  home,  and  his  thoughts  began  to  make  pictures 
of  the  scene  within,  its  light  and  warmth  penetrated 
his  feelings,  and  when  he  opened,  at  length,  the  door, 
he  was  himself  again. 

First  to  bound  into  his  arms  was  Fanny  Elder 
What  a beautiful,  fairy-like  creature  she  was  ! How 
more  than  fulfilled  the  promise  of  her  early  child- 
hood ! Next  came  Edith,  now  six  years  of  age,  side 
by  side  with  her  brother  Harry,  a wild  little  rogue, 
and  were  only  a few  seconds  behind  Fanny  in  throw- 
ing themselves  upon  their  father ; while  little  baby 
Mary,  as  she  sat  on  the  carpet,  fluttered  her  tiny 
arms,  and  crowed  out  her  joyous  welcome. 

What  a merry  romp  they  all  had  for  the  next  two 
or  three  minutes.  When  quiet  came  back  again, 


96 


TRUE  RICHES ; OR, 


baby  was  sitting  on  one  knee,  Harry  on  tbe  otlier, 
and  Fanny  leaning  her  face  on  the  shoulder  of  her 
“ father” — for  so  she  called  him  with  the  rest — 
f while  her  glossy  curls  were  resting  in  sunny  clusters 
upon  his  bosom.  The  memory  of  the  child’s  former 
home  and  parents  seemed  to  have  faded  almost  en- 
tirely. If  the  past  ever  came  back  to  her,  like  a 
dream,  with  its  mingled  web  of  sunshine  and  tears, 
she  never  spoke  of  it.  Fully  had  she  been  taken 
into  the  hearts  and  home  of  her  new  parents ; and 
she  rested  there  as  one  having  a right  to  her  posi- 
tion. 

And  the  pure  spirit  who  presided  over  this  Tittle 
Paradise,  where  was  she  ? Present — observing  all, 
and  sharing  in  the  delight  her  husband’s  return  had 
occasioned.  The  expected  kiss  had  not  long  been 
kept  from  her  loving  lips. 

Happy  household ! What  have  its  inmates  to  envy 
in  those  around  them?  Within  the  circle  of  many 
squares  were  none  so  rich  in  all  the  elements  of  hap- 
piness. 

Soon  after  the  evening  meal  was  over,  the  chil- 
dren, after  another  merry  romp  with  their  father, 
went  off  to  bed.  When  Mrs.  Claire  returned  from 
the  chamber,  whither  she  had  accompanied  them, 
she  held  a letter  in  her  hand. 

“I  had  forgotten  all  about  this  letter,  Edward/*' 
said  she.  “ It  was  left  here  for  you,  this  afternoon.” 

Claire  took  the  letter  and  broke  the  seal,  running 
his  eye  down  to  the  signature  as  he  unfolded  it. 

“ Leonard  Jasper ! What  is  this  ?” 

His  brow  contracted  instantly,  as  he  commenced 
reading  the  letter.  It  was  brief,  and  in  these  words — 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS, 


97 


“Mu.  Edward  Claire>— Sir:  From  this  time  I 
will  relieve  you  of  the  burden  of  my  ward,  Fanny 
Elder.  Mrs.  Jasper  and  myself  have  determined  to 
take  her  into  our  own  family,  in  order  that  we  may 
give  the  needful  care  to  her  education.  Call  around 
and  see  me  to-morrow,  and  we  will  arrange  this  mat- 
ter. Yours,  &c.  Leonard  Jasper.” 

The  face  of  the  young  man  had  become  pale  by 
the  time  he  had  finished  reading  this  letter ; but 
that  of  his  wife,  who  did  not  yet  know  a word  of  its 
contents,  was  almost  white— the  effect  produced  on 
her  husband  filling  her  with  a vague  alarm. 

“What  is  it, Edward?”  she  asked,  in  a low,  eager 
whisper. 

“ Jasper  wants  us  to  give  up  Fanny  ” 

Edith  sank  into  a chair,  exclaiming— 

“ Oh,  Edward !” 

“ But  she  is  only  ten  years  of  age,”  said  the  hus- 
band, “ and  our  contract  is  to  keep  her  until  she  is 
twelve.” 

“ We  cannot  give  her  up,”  murmured  Edith,  tears 
already  beginning  to  flow  over  her  cheeks.  “’I  ne- 
ver thought  of  this.  What  can  it  mean?” 

“ Some  sudden  determination  on  the  part  of  Jas- 
per, and  based  on  nothing  good,”  was  the  reply. 
“ But,  as  I said,  our  contract  is  binding  until  Fanny 
is  twelve  years  of  age,  and  I will  never  consent  to 
its  being  broken.  He  was  over  anxious  to  hold  me 
in  writing.  He  did  not  value  his  own  word,  and 
would  not  trust  mine.  It  was  well.  The  dear  child 
shall  remain  where  she  is.” 

“ But,  after  she  is  twelve,  Edward  ? What  then? 

9 


98 


true  riches;  or, 


Oh,  I can  never  part  with  her,”  said  Mrs.  Claire, 
now  weeping  freely. 

“ Two  years  will  pass  ere  that  time.  Jasper  may 
have  other  purposes  in  view  when  our  present  con- 
tract expires.” 

“ You  will  see  him  in  the  morning?” 

“ 0 yes.  I must  understand  all  about  this  mat- 
ter. What  can  it  mean  ? 4 Needful  ^eare  to  her 

education!'  A mere  hypocritical  pretence.  What 
does  he  care  for  her,  or  her  education  ? What,  in 
fact,  does  he  know  of  her?  Nothing  at  all.  Has 
he  ever  called  to  see  her  ? Has  he  ever  made  the  first 
inquiry  after  her  ? No.  There  is  something  wrong, 
without  doubt.  This  movement  bodes  no  good  to 
our  dear  child.  But  she  has  one  friend  who  will 
stand  between  her  and  harm— -who  will  protect  her, 
if  need  be,  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life.” 

Claire,  as  his  words  indicate,  had  suffered  himself 
to  become  much  excited.  Seeing  this,  his  wife  re- 
covered, to  some  extent,  her  own  self-possession,  and 
spoke  to  him  soothingly. 

“We  will  wait  and  see  what  it  means,”  said  she. 
“ Mr.  Jasper  cannot  force  her  away  from  us  now,  if 
he  would.” 

“After  seeing  him  to-morrow,  you  can  understand 
better  what  we  are  to  expect.  This  note  may  have 
been  written  from  some  'momentary  feeling.  I can- 
not think  that  he  has  a settled  purpose  to  take  the 
child  from  us.” 

“ Time  will  show,”  was  the  abstracted  response. 

Not  for  years  had  so  unhappy  an  evening  been 
spent  by  Edward  Claire  and  his  wife ; and  when 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


99 


they  retired,  it  was  to  pass  the  night  in  broken  inter- 
vals of  sleep. 

Early  on  the  next  morning,  Claire  called  at  the 
store  of  Jasper,  who  received  him  with  cold  polite- 
ness, and  at  once  came  to  the  matter  uppermost  in 
both  their  thoughts,  by  saying — 

64 You  received  my  note?” 

“I  did,”  was  the  reply. 

“ Well  ? All  right,  I suppose  ?” 

“ Fanny  is  not  twelve  years  of  age  yet!” 

“ Isn’t  she?  Well,  what  of  that?”  There  was 
some  impatience  in  the  manner  of  Jasper. 

“I  agreed  to  take  the  care  of  her  until  she  was 
twelve.” 

“Well — well — suppose  you  did?  I’m  her  guar- 
dian, and  wish  to  have  her  now  in  my  own  family.  If 
you  agreed  to  keep  her,  I did  not  say  that  she  should 
positively  remain.” 

“ There  was  a contract  signed  to  that  effect,” 
firmly  replied  Claire. 

“ A contract ! Humph  ! Are  you  sure?” 
“Very  sure.  You  drew  it  yourself.” 

“ Have  you  a copy  of  it  ?” 

“I  have.” 

J asper  seemed  thrown  aback  by  this.  He  had  not 
forgotten  the  contract,  for  all  his  affected  ignorance 
thereof.  He  only  hoped  that  Edward  had,  through 
carelessness,  lost  his  copy.  But  he  was  mistaken. 

“A  contract!  A contract?”  said  Jasper,  as  if 
communing  with  his  own  thoughts.  “ I do  remem- 
ber, now,  something  of  the  kind.  And  so  there  was 
a written  contract?” 

“Yes,  sir ; and  I have  a copy  in  your  own  hand.” 


100 


TRUE  RTOHES ; OR, 


“ And  I am  to  understand,  Edward,  that  notwith* 
standing  my  wish,  as  the  child’s  legal  guardian,  and, 
therefore,  the  representative  of  her  parents,  to  have 
her  in  my  own  family,  that  you  will  interpose  a 
hasty*signed  contract  :” 

“Mr.  Jasper,”  said  the>young  man,  changing  his 
manner,  “ we  have  had  this  child  in  our  family  for 
over  five  years,  and  have  grown  strongly  attached 
to  her.  In  fact,  she  seems  to  us  as  one  of  our  own 
children ; and  we,  to  her,  are  in  the  place  of  parents. 
To  remove  her  would,  therefore,  be  doing  a great 
violence  to  our  feelings,  and  I know  it  would  make 
her  unhappy.  Let  her  remain  where  she  is,  and 
you  may  rest  assured  that  she  will  be  cared  for  as 
tenderly  as  our  own.” 

“No,  Edward,  it  is  no  use  to  talk  of  that,”  re- 
plied Jasper,  positively.  “ I wish,  now,  to  have  her 
in  my  own  family,  and  trust  that  you  will  not  stand 
for  a moment  in  the  way.” 

“But,  Mr.  Jasper” 

“ It  will  be  of  no  avail  to  argue  the  point,  Ed- 
ward,” said  the  merchant,  interrupting  him.  “I 
was  fully  in  earnest  when  I wrote  to  you,  and  am 
no  less  in  earnest  now.  I am  certainly  entitled  to 
the  possession  of  my  ward,  and  will  not  bear,  pa- 
tiently, any  attempt  on  your  part  to  deprive  me  of 
that  right.” 

There  was  an  angry  quivering  of  the  lips,  and  a 
stern  knitting  of  the  brows,  on  the  part  of  Jasper, 
as  he  closed  this  emphatic  sentence.  Claire  felt  ex- 
cited, yet  Was  so  fully  conscious  of  the  necessity  of 
self-control,  that  he  quieted  down  his  feelings,  and 
endeavoured  to  think  calmly. 


/ 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS.  101 


Well,  what  do  you  say  ?”  imperatively  demanded  . 
Jasper,  after  waiting  some  moments  for  a reply. 

66  We  cannot  part  with  the  child,”  said  the  young 
man,  in  a low,  appealing  voice. 

“ You  must  part  with  her  !”  was  the  quick,  reso- 
lute response. 

“Must?  That  is  a strong  word,  Mr.  Jasper.’* 
Claire’s  manner  underwent  another  change,  as  w^as 
shown  by  the  firm  compression  of  his  lips,  and  the 
steady  gaze  of  his  eyes,  as  he  fixed  them  on  the 
merchant. 

“ I know  it  is  strong,  but  no  stronger  than  my 
purpose ; and  I warn  you  not  to  stand  in  my  way 
I’ve  got  an  old  grudge  against  you,  so  don’t  provoke 
me  too  far  in  this  matter.  A pretty  affair,  indeed, 
when  you  attempt  to  come  between  me  and  my  legal 
rights  and  duties.” 

“Duties!”  There  was  a stinging  contempt  in 
the  young  man’s  voice.  The  manner  of  Jasper  had 
chafed  him  beyond  all  manner  of  self-control. 

“You  forget  to  whom  you  are  speaking,”  said 
the  latter,  offended  now,  as  well  as  angry.  “ But 
we  will  not  bandy  words.  Will  you,  without  fur- 
ther trouble,  give  into  my  hands  the  child  of  Mr. 
Elder?” 

“I  cannot  do  it,  Mr.  Jasper.” 

“ Speak  positively.  Will  you,  or  will  you  not  do 
as  I wish  ?” 

“I  will  not,”  was  the  decided  answer. 

“ Enough.”  And  Jasper  turned  away,  muttering 
in  an  undertone,  “We’ll  soon  see  who  is  to  be  mas- 
ter here.” 

Claire  lingered  a short  time,  but,  as  Jasper  showed 

9* 


102 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


no  disposition  to  renew  the  conversation,  he  left 
the  store,  greatly  disturbed  and  troubled  in  his 
mind. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

When  Edward  Claire  and  his  wife  drew  together 
on  the  evening  of  that  day,  after  the  children  wero 
in  bed,  both  were  calmer  than  at  their  previous  in- 
terview on  a subject  that  necessarily  brought  with 
it  strong  excitement  of  feeling.  Both  had  thought 
much  and  felt  much,  and  were  now  prepared  to  look 
calmly  at  the  new  relation  affairs  had  so  suddenly 
assumed.  At  dinner-time,  Edward  had  related  the 
substance  of  his  interview  with  Jasper. 

u What  can  he  do  V ’ asked  Edith,  referring  now 
to  the  muttered  threat  of  that  individual. 

“ I don’t  know  that  he  can  do  any  thjng  more 
than  withhold  the  regular  sums  heretofore  .paid  for 
the  support  of  Fanny.  If  he  does  that,  I will  col- 
lect them  legally.” 

“ Can’t  he  take  her  away  by  force  ? Won’t  the 
law  compel  us  to  give  her  up  ?”  asked  Edith,  in  a 
troubled  voice. 

“ Our  contract  gives  us  a right  to  her  possession 
until  she  is  twelve  years  of  age.  In  that,  the  law 
will  undoubtedly  sustain  us.” 

“ The  law  is  very  uncertain,  Edward.” 

“ But  our  contract  is  plainly  worded,  and,  in  this 
State,  private  written  contracts  between  parties  to 
agreement  are  good  in  law.  At  best,  however, 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


103 


we  can  only  keep  her  two  years  longer ; that  is 
what  troubles  me  most.” 

“ We  must  do  our  duty  by  her,”  said  Edith,  en- 
deavouring to  speak  calmly,  “ during  that  time; 
and  wean  our  hearts  from  her  as  much  as  possible, 
bo  that  the  giving  of  her  up,  when  it  has  to  be 
done,  will  cause  as  little  grief  as  possible.  Poor 
child  ! It  will  be  hard  for  her  to  leave  us,  and  go 
to  her  new  home.  That  thought  is  beginning  to 
pain  me  most.” 

“ And  such  a home  ! I have  seen  Mrs.  Jasper 
frequently,  and,  if  my  observation  is  correct,  she  is 
no  true  woman.  Dress,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  all 
she  cared  for ; and  there  was  a captiousness  and  ill- 
temper  about  her,  at  times,  that  was,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  very  unbecoming.” 

“ And  to  her  care  we  must  resign  this  precious 
one,”  said  Edith,  with  a sigh.  “ Oh,  how  the  thought 
pains  me  ! Dear,  dear  child  !” 

“ The  time  is  yet  distant,”  remarked  Claire — 
66  distant  by  nearly  two  years.  Let  it  be  our  duty 
to  prepare  her  as  fully  for  the  newT  relation  as  pos- 
sible. Two  years  is  a long  time — many  changes 
will  take  place,  and  among  them,  it  may  be,  a 
change  in  the  purpose  of  Mr.  Jasper.  We  will  hope 
for  this,  at  least ; yet  wisely  prepare  for  a different 
result.” 

“ As  things  now  appear,  I do  not  see  what  else 
remains  for  us  to  d;.  Ah  me  ! How  like  light- 
ning from  a summer  sky  has  this  flashed  sud- 
denly over  us.  But,  Edward,  we  must  not,  in 
the  strong  trial  of  our  natural  feelings,  permit 
ourselves  to  forget  that  dear  Fanry  is  in  th3 


104 


TRUE  RICHES:  OR, 


higher  guardianship  of  One  who  is  infinitely  wise 
and  good.  If  she  is  to  pass  from  our  care  to  that 
of  Mr.  Jasper  and  his  family,  it  is  through  Ilia 
permission,  and  He  will  bring  out  of  it  good  to 
all.” 

“I  can  see  that  in  my  understanding,  Edith/* 
replied  her  husband;  “bat,  it  is  nard  to  feel  that  it 


IS  so. 


u 


u 


u 


“ Very  hard,  Edward.  Yet,  it  is  something- — a 
great  deal — to  have  the  truth  to  lean  upon,  even 
though  it  seems  to  bend  under  our  weight.  Oh ! 
without  this  truth,  it  seems  as  if  I would  now  faP 
to  the  ground  helpless.  But,  let  us  try  and  view 
this  painful  subject  in  its  brightest  aspect.  It  is 
our  duty  to  the  child  to  keep  her,  if  we  can,  until 
she  passes  her  twelfth  year.” 

Clearly,”  replied  the  husband. 

And  you  think  we  can  do  so  ?” 

We  have  two  advantages— possession  and  a 
written  contract  guaranteeing  the  possession.” 

“ True.” 

“ These  on  our  side,  I think  we  have  little  to 
fear  from  Jasper.  The  great  trial  will  come  after- 
ward.” 

To  this  conclusion,  that  is,  to  retain  Fanny 
until  her  twelfth  year,  if  possible — they  came, 
after  once  more  carefully  reviewing  the  whole  sub- 
ject; and,  resting  here,  they  patiently  awaited  th© 
result. 

With  what  a new  interest  was  the  child  regarded 
from  this  time  ! How  the  hearts  of  Claire  ar.  1 his 
wife  melted  toward  her  on  all  occasions ! Sh© 
seemed  to  grow,  daily,  more  and  more  into  their  af- 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


105 


fections ; and,  what  to  them  appeared  strange — it 
might  only  have  been  imagination — manifested  a 
more  clinging  tenderness,  as  if  conscious  of  the 
real  truth. 

Weeks  elapsed  and  nothing  further  was  heard 
from  Jasper.  Claire  and  his  wife  began  to  hope 
that  he  would  make  no  attempt  to  separate  Fanny 
from  them ; at  least  not  until  her  twelfth  year. 
Let  us  turn  to  him,  and  see  what  he  is  doing,  or 
proposing  to  do,  in  the  case. 

Two  or  three  days  subsequent  to  the  time  when 
Claire  received  the  notification  from  Jasper,  just  re- 
ferred to,  two  men  sat,  in  close  conference,  in  the 
office  of  an  attorney  noted  for  his  legal  intelligence, 
but  more  noted  for  his  entire  want  of  principle. 
For  a good  fee,  he  would  undertake  any  case,  and 
gain  for  his  client,  if  possible,  no  matter  how  great 
the  wrong  that  was  done.  His  name  was  Grind. 
The  two  men  here 
Jasper. 

“ Do  you  really  think,”  said  the  latter,  “ that,  in 
the  face  of  my  guardianship,  he  can  retain  posses- 
sion of  the  child  ?” 

46  He  has,  you  say,  a copy  of  this  contract  ?” 
Grind  held  a sheet  of  paper  in  his  hand. 

“ Yes.  To  think  that  I was  such  a fool  as  to 
bind  myself  in  this  way  ! But  I did  not  dream,  for 
a moment,  that  things  were  going  to  turn  up  as 
they  have.” 

“ It  is  a contract  that  binds  you  both,”  said  the 
lawyer,  “ and  I do  not  see  that  you  can  go  round 

it." 


introduced,  were  this  lawyer  and 


106 


TRUE  riches;  cr, 


“I  must  go  round  it  !”  replied  Jasper,  warmly* 
“ You  know  all  the  quirks  and  windings  of  the  law, 
and  I look  to  you  for  help  in  this  matter.  The 
possession  of  that  child,  is,  to  me,  a thing  of  the 
first  importance.” 

44  After  two  years  she  will  come  into  your  hands 
without  trouble,  Mr.  Jasper.  Why  not  wait?” 

64  Wait ! I will  not  hear  the  word.  No  ! no  ! I 
must  have  her  now.” 

44  The  law  will  not  give  her  to  you,  Mr.  Jasper,” 
returned  Grind,  with  the  utmost  self-possession. 
44  The  contract  is  clearly  expressed ; and  it  is 
binding.” 

44 Is  there  no  way  to  accomplish  my  end?”  said 
Jasper,  impatiently.  44  There  must  be.  I cannot 
be  foiled  in  this  matter.  Even  pride  would  forbid 
this.  But,  there  are  stronger  motives  than  pride  at 
work  now.” 

44  Can  you  allege  ill-treatment  against  the  young 
man  or  his  wife  ? Or  neglect  of  your  ward’s  com- 
fort ? Have  they  failed  to  do  their  duty  by  her  in 
any  respect  ?” 

44 1 should  not  wonder  ; but,  unfortunately,  I can 
prove  nothing.” 

44  You  might  call  for  an  investigation.” 

44  And  if  every  thing  was  proved  right  on  their 
part?” 

44  The  court  would,  most  probably,  return  the 
child  to  their  care.  I am  ready  to  take  all  neces- 
sary steps  for  you  ; but,  Mr.  Jasper,  I very  strong- 
ly incline  to  the  opinion  that  the  least  noise  you 
make  in  this  matter,  the  better.  Couldn’t  you — for 
a consideration  in  money,  for  instance — overcome 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WIHGS. 


107 


tae  reluctance  of  Claire  and  his  wife  to  part  with 
the  child  ? Honey,  you  know,  catches  more  flies 
than  vinegar.  ” 

“ Buy  him  off,  you  mean  ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ No — no  ! I hate  him  too  cordially  for  that. 
He’s  a villain  in  disguise  ; that’s  my  opinion  of  him. 
A low,  canting  hypocrite.  Buy  him  off  for  money. 
Oh  no  !” 

“ Could  he  he  bought  ?”  asked  the  lawyer. 

“ Could  he  ?”  A flush  of  surprise  lit  up,  for  a 
moment,  the  face  of  Jasper.  “What  a question  for 
you  to  ask.  Hasn’t  every  man  his  price  ? Bought ! 
Yes,  I could  buy  him  fifty  times  over.” 

“ Then  do  so,  and  in  the  quietest  manner.  That 
is  my  advice.” 

“I’ll  steal  the  child!”  exclaimed  Jasper,  rising 
up  in  his  excitement,  and  moving  uneasily  about 
the  room. 

Grind  shook  his  head,  as  he  replied — 

“ All  folly.  No  man  ever  did  a wise  thing  while 
he  was  in  a passion.  You  must  permit  yourself  to 
cool  down  a great  many  degrees  before  you  can  act 
judiciously  in  this  matter.” 

“ But  to  be  thwarted  by  him  !”  An  expression 
of  the  deepest  disgust  was  in  the  face  of  Jasper. 

“All  very  annoying,  of  course,”  was  the  re- 
sponse of  Grind.  “ Still,  where  we  can’t  make 
things  bend  exactly  to  our  wishes,  it  is  generally 
the  wisest  policy  to  bend  a little  ourselves.  We 
often,  in  this  way,  gain  a purchase  that  enables  us 
to  bring  all  over  to  our  side.” 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Grind,  in  giving  hij 


108 


TRUE  RICHES  ; OR, 


client  advice  that  was  to  prevent  an  appeal  to  law, 
did  so  from  any  unselfish  friendliness.  . Nothing  of 
the  kind.  He  saw  a great  deal  to  gain,  beyond ; 
,and,  in  his  advice,  regarded  his  own  interests  quito 
as  much  as  he  did  those  of  Jasper.  He  was  not, 
however,  at  this  interview,  able  to  induce  the  mer- 
chant to  attempt  to  settle  the  matter  with  Claire 
6y  compromise.  The  most  he  could  do  was  to  get 
him  to  promise,  that,  for  the  present,  he  would 
make  no  effort  to  get  the  person  of  the  child  into 
his  possession. 

Jasper,  when  he  left  his  lawyer,  was  less  satisfied 
with  him  than  he  had  ever  been.  In  previous  cases, 
he  had  found  Grind  ready  to  prosecute  or  defend, 
and  to  promise  him  the  fullest  success— though 
success  did  not  always  come. 

Several  more  consultations  were  held  during  the 
succeeding  two  or  three  weeks,  and,  finally,  Jasper 
was  brought  over  fully  to  his  lawyer’s  way  of 
thinking. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  minds  of  Claire  and  his  wife  were  yet  in  a 
State  of  suspense,  when,  some  weeks  after  the  first 
interview,  the  former  received  a politely  worded 
note  from  Jasper,  requesting  him  to  call  at  his  store. 
He  went,  accordingly,  and  Jasper  received-  him 
with  marked  suavity  and  kindness  of  manner,  and, 
after  making  a few  inquiries  about  his  family, 
said — 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


109 


u Edward  : I believe  I must  confess  to  having 
been  a little  over-excited  at  our  last  interview.  The 
fact  is,  I had  forgotten  all  about  that  contract ; 
and  when  you  brought  it  to  my  mind  so  abruptly, 
1 was  thrown  somewhat  off  of  my  guard,  and  said 
things  for  which  I have  since  felt  regret.  So 
let  what  is  past  go.  I now  wish  to  have  another 
talk  with  you  about  Fanny  Elder.  How  is  the 
child?” 

“ She  is  very  well.” 

“ And  she  has  grown,  I presume,  finely  ?” 

“ Yes.  She’s  now  quite  a stout  girl.” 

“ What  kind  of  a child  is  she  ? Docile  and  obe 
dient?” 

“None  could  be  more  so.  A sweeter  disposition 
1 have  never  seen.” 

“ How  are  you  getting  on  now,  Edward  ?”  Mr. 
Jasper’s  voice  was  kind  and  insinuating. 

“ Comfortably,”  was  answered, 

“ What  is  your  salary?” 

There  was  a momentary  hesitation  on  the  part  of 
Claire,  and  then  he  replied — 

“Five  hundred  dollars.” 

“ Is  that  all  ? I was  under  the  impression  that 
you  received  a thousand.  I am  very  certain  that 
some  one  told  me  so.  Too  little,  Edward — too  little. 
You  are  worth  more  than  that  to  any  one.  Are 
you  acquainted  at  Edgar  & Co.’s?” 

“No.” 

“ I wash  you  were.  One  of  their  young  men  is 
going  to  leave,  and  they  will  have  to  fill  his  place 
immediately.  The  salary  is  twelve  hundred.” 
Claire’s  heart  gave  a quick  bound. 

10 


110 


TRUE  RICHES  j OR, 


“ Shall  I speak  to  Edgar  for  you?”  added  the 
merchant. 

“If  you  will  do  so,  Mr.  Jasper,”  said  Edward, 
with  a sudden  earnestness  of  manner,  “ I shall  be 
' greatly  indebted  to  you.  .1  find  it  a little  difficult  to 
get  along  on  five  hundred  dollars  a year.” 

“ How  much  family  have  you  now  ?” 

“ Three  children.” 

Indeed.  Oh  yes,  you  should  have  a higher  sa- 
lary. I know  you  would  just  suit  Edgar  & Co.,  and 
I think  the  place  may  be  secured  for  you.” 

A few  moments  of  silence  followed,  and  then  Jas- 
per resumed — 

“ But,  as  just  said,  I wish  to  talk  with  you  about 
this  ward  of  mine.  Your  salary  is  so  light  that  you, 
no  doubt,  find  the  income  received  through  her  quite 
a help  to  you  ?” 

“ No — no,”  replied  Claire ; “ it  costs  for  her  board- 
ing, clothes,  schooling,  etc.,  quite  as  much  as  we  re- 
ceive.” 

“ It  does  ?”  Jasper  manifested  some  surprise. 

“Oh  yes.  We  have  no  wish  to  make  any  profit 
out  of  her.” 

“That  being  the  case,  Edward,”  said  the  mer- 
chant, “ why  are  you  so  reluctant  to  give  her  up  ?” 

“ Because,”  was  the  reply,  “ both  myself  and  wife 
have  become  strongly  attached  to  her.  In  fact,  she 
seems  like  one  of  our  own  children.” 

“When  she  is  twelve,  you  know,”  Edward,  re- 
turned Jasper,  “ you  will  have  to  resign  her.  Our 
agreement  only  extends  to  that  time.”  He  spoke 
in  a mild,  insinuating,  friendly  tone  of  voice.  So 
much  so,  in  fact,  that  Claire,  well  as  he  knew 


WEALTH  WtTHOUT  WINGS. 


Ill 


him,  was  partially  deceived  and  thrown  off  of  hia 
guard. 

44  True ; unless  you  have  seen  reason  by  that  time* 
which  we  hope  will  be  the  case,  to  let  her  remain  in 
her  present  home.  Believe  me,  Mr  Jasper,” — Claire 
spoke  earnestly — 44  that  Fanny  will  take  the  parting 
very  hard,  if  ever  it  comes.” 

44  As  come  it  must,  Edward,  sooner  or  later,”  was 
the  mild,  yet  firm  response. 

46 Are  you  so  earnest  about  this,  Mr.  Jasper?  I 
have  flattered  myself  that  you  did  not  really  care  a 
great  deal  about  having  Fanny.  ”% 

44 1 am  entirely  in  earnest,  Edward,”  was  the  re- 
ply. 44 1 may  have  seemed  to  you  indifferent  about 
this  child,  but  such  has  not  been  the  case.  I have 
feelings  and  purposes  in  regard  to  her  which  I can- 
not explain,  but  which  are  near  my  heart.  I se 
your  position  and  that  of  your  wife,  and  I feel  for 
you.  If  compatible  with  wdiat  I conceive  to  be  my 
duty,  I would  let  her  remain  under  your  care.  But 
such  is  not  the  case.  Surely,  it  will  be  far  better 
for  both  you  and  Fanny  for  the  change  that  must 
come  to  be  made  now.” 

The  calm,  kind,  insinuating  manner  of  Jasper 
disarmed  Claire,  and  made  him  wish  that  he  could 
meet  the  desire  of  his  old  employer,  without  the 
painful  breach  in  his  home  circle  which  must  be  the 
consequence.  With  his  eyes  cast  upon  the  floor,  he 
sat  silently  communing  with'  his  own  thoughts  for 
some  time.  The  announcement  of  a vacancy  in  the 
house  of  Edgar  & Co.,  and  the  offer  to  try  and  get 
the  situation  for  him,  had  flattered  his  mind  consi- 
derably. If  he  did  not  make  some  compromise  in  the 


112 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


present  case,  he  could  count  nothing  on  the  influence 
of  Jasper.  But,  how  could  he  compromise  ? There 
was  but  one  way — to  give  up  Fanny — and  that  he 
was  not  prepared  to  do. 

Seeing  that  the  young  man  remained  silent,  Jas- 
per said — 

“ Edward,  I will  make  you  this  very  liberal  offer. 
Understand,  now,  that  I am  deeply  in  earnest — 
that  the  possession  of  Fanny  is  a thing  of  great  mo- 
ment to  me ; and  that  to  gain  this  desired  object,  I 
am  prepared  to  go  very  far.  If  you  will  meet  me 
in  a spirjt  of  compromise,  I will  become  as  I was 
some  years  ago,  your  friend ; and  I have  the  ability 
to  aid  any  one  materially.  As  just  said,  I will  make 
you  this  liberal  offer : — Let  me  have  the  child  now, 
and  for  the  next  two  years  I will  pay  you  the  same 
that  you  have  been  receiving  for  her  maintenance.” 

Claire  lifted  his  head  quickly.  There  was  already 
a flush  on  his  cheeks  and  a sharp  light  in  his  eyes. 

“ Stay — one  moment,”  interrupted  Jasper,  who 
saw  by  the  motion  of  his  lips  that  he  was  about  re- 
plying. “ I will  pay  you  the  whole  sum,  six  hun- 
dred dollars,  in  advance,  and,  in  addition  thereto, 
pledge  myself  to  procure  for  you,  within  three 
months,  a situation  worth  a thousand  dollars  per 
annum,  at  least.” 

This  was  too  broad  an  attempt  to  buy  over  the 
young  man,  and  it  failed.  Starting  to  his  feet,  with 
a feeling  of  indignation  in  his  heart  so  strong  that 
he  could  not  repress  it,  he  answered,  with  knit  brows 
and  eyes  fixed  sternly  and  steadily  on  the  merchant — • 

“ Leonard  Jasper  ! I thought  you  knew  me  better  J 
I am  not  to  be  bought  with  your  money.” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


113 


As  sudden  was  the  change  that  passed  over  th« 
merchant.  He,  too,  sprang  to  his  feetr  and  con- 
scious that  his  offer  of  bribery,  which  he  had  humi- 
liated himself  to  make,  had  failed,  with  clenched 
hand  and  set  teeth,  he  fairly  hissed  out — 

“ You’ll  rue  this  day  and  hour,  Edward  Claire — 
rue  it  even  to  the  moment  of  death!  I will  never 
forget  nor  forgive  the  wrong  and  insult.  Don’t 
think  to  escape  me — don’t  think  to  foil  me.  The 
child  is  mine  by  right,  and  I will  have  her,  come 
what  will.” 

Feeling  how  useless  it  would  be  to  multiply  words, 
Claire  turned  away  and  left  the  store.  He  did  not 
go  home  immediately,  as  he  had  thought  of  doing, 
in  order  to  relieve  the  suspense  of  his  wife,  who  was, 
he  knew,  very  anxious  to  learn  for  what  purpose 
Jasper  had  sent  for  him ; but  went  to  his  place  of 
business  and  laid  the  whole  substance  of  his  inter- 
view before  his  fast  friend,  Mr.  Melleville,  whose 
first  response  was  one  of  indignation  at  the  offer 
made  by  Jasper  to  buy  him  over  to  his  wishes  with 
money.  He  then  said — 

“ There  is  something  wrong  here,  depend  upon  it. 
Was  there  much  property  left  by  the  child’s  pa- 
rents ?” 


. “ Two  houses  in  the  city.” 

u Was  that  all?” 

u All,  I believe,  of  any  value.  There  was  a tract 
of  land  somewhere  in  the  State,  taken  for  debt ; but 
it^was  considered  of  little  account.” 

“ Regard  for  the  child  has  nothing  to  do  with  this 
movement,”  remarked  Mr.  Melleville.  “ The  cha- 
racter of  Jasper  precludes  the  supposition.” 

10* 


114 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


“ Entirely,  What  can  it  mean  ? The  thing  comes 
on  me  so  suddenly  that  I anTbewildered.” 

Claire  was  distressed. 

“ You  are  still  firm  in  your  purpose  to  keep 
Fanny  until  she  is  twelve  years  old?’, 

“As  firm  as  ever,  Mr.  Melleville.  I love  tho 
child  too  well  to  give  her  up.  If  a higher  good  to  her 
were  to  be  secured,  then  I might  yield — then  it 
would  be  my  duty  to  yield.  But,  now,  every  just 
and  humane  consideration  calls  on  me  to  abide  by 
my  purpose — and  there  I will  abide.” 

“In  my  mind  you  are  fully  justified,”  was  the 
reply  of  Mr.  Melleville.  “ Keep  me  fully  advisea 
of  every  thing  that  occurs,  and  I will  aid  you  as  far 
as  lies  in  my  power.  To-day  I will  call  upon  Edgar 
& Co.,  and  do  what  I can  toward  securing  for  you 
the  place  said  by  Jasper  to  be  vacant.  I presume 
that  I have  quite  as  much  influence  in  this  quarter 
as  he  has.” 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Scarcely  had  Edward  Claire  left  the  store  of 
Jasper,  ere  the  latter  went  out  hurriedly,  and  took 
his  way  to  the  office  of  Grind,  the  lawyer,  to  whom 
he  said,  as  he  entered — 

“It’s  just  as  I feared.  The  miserable  wretch 
proved  as  intractable  as  iron.”  Jasper  was  not  only 
strongly  excited,  but  showed,  in  his  voice  and  man- 
ner. that  he  had  suffered  no  ordinary  disappointment. 

“Couldn't  you  buy  him  over?”  There  was  a 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


115 


mixture  of  surprise  and  incredulity  in  the  lawyer’s 
tones, 

“No,”  was  the  emphatic  response. 

“ That’s  strange  ! He’s  poor  ?” 

“ He  gets  five  hundred  a year,  and  has  a wife  and 
three  children  to  support.” 

“ Why  didn’t  you  tempt  him  with  the  offer  to  get 
him  a place  worth  a thousand?” 

“ I did.” 

“ With  what  effect  ?” 

“ He  wouldn’t  give  up  the  child.” 

“ Humph !” 

“ Isn’t  it  too  bad,  that  a mean-souled  fellow  like 
him  should  stand  in  our  way  at  such  a point  of  time  ? 
I could  spurn  him  with  my  foot ! Hah  !” 

And  Jasper  clenched  his  teeth  and  scowled  ma- 
lignantly. 

“ I am  disappointed,  I confess,  said  Grind.  “But 
angry  excitement  never  helped  a cause,  good  or  bad. 
We  must  have  possession  of  this  child  somehow. 
Martin  came  down  from  Reading  this  morning.  I 
saw  him  but  an  hour  ago.” 

“ Indeed  ! What  does  he  say?” 

“ The  indications  of  coal  are  abundant.  He  made 
very  careful  examinations  at  a great  number  of 
points.  In  several  places  he  found  it  cropping  our 
freely;  and  the  quality,  as  far  as  he  was  able  to 
judge,  is  remarkably  good.” 

“Will  he  keep  our  secret?”  said  Jasper. 

“It  is  his  interest  to  do  so.” 

“We  must  make  it  his  interest,  in  any  event. 
No  time  is  now  to  be  lost.” 

« I agree  with  you  there.  A single  week’s  delay 


116 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


may  ruin  every  thing.  The  coal  is  our  discovery, 
and  we  are,  in  all  equity,  entitled  to  the  benefit.” 

“ Of  course  we  are.  It’s  a matter  of  speculation, 
at  best ; the  lucky  win.  If  we  can  get  an  order  for 
the  sale,  we  shall  win  handsomely.  But,  without 
producing  the  child,  it  will  be  next  to  impossible  to 
get  the  order.  So  we  must  have  her,  by  fair  means 
or  by  foul.,, 

“ We  must,”  said  the  lawyer,  compressing  his  lips 
firmly. 

“ And  have  her  now.” 

“Now,”  responded  Grind. 

Jasper  rose  to  his  feet. 

“It’s  easy  enough  to  say  what  we  must  have,” 
remarked  Grind,  “but  the  means  of  gaining  our 
ends  are  not  always  at  hand.  What  do  you  propose 
doing  ?” 

“ I shall  get  the  child.” 

“ Don’t  act  too  precipitately.  Violence  will  ex- 
cite suspicion,  and  suspicion  is  a wonderful  ques- 
tioner.” 

“We  must  play  a desperate  game,  as  things  now 
are,  or  not  play  at  all,”  said  Jasper. 

“ True ; but  the  more  desperate  the  game,  the 
more  need  of  coolness,  forethought,  and  circumspec- 
tion. Don’t  forget  this.  How  do  you  mean  to 

is  yet  to  be  determined.” 

“Will  you  make  another  effort  to  influence 
Claire?” 

“No.” 

“ Do  you  regard  him  as  altogether  impracticable?” 

“ No  influence  that  I can  bring  would  move  him.” 


proceed 
“ Tha 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


117 


u Yon  will,  then,  resort  to  stratagem  or  force  ?” 

“ One  or  the  other — perhaps  both.  The  child  we 
must  have.” 

“Let  me  beg  of  you,  Jasper,  to  be  prudent. 
There  is  a great  deal  at  stake.” 

“I  know  there  is;  and  the  risk  increases  with 
every  moment  of  delay.” 

Grind  showed  a marked  degree  of  anxiety. 

“If  the  child  were  in  our  possession  now,”  said 
Jasper,  “or,  which  is  the  same,  could  be  produced 
when  wanted,  how  soon  might  an  order  for  the  sale 
be  procured?” 

“In  two  or  three  weeks,  I think,”  replied  the 
lawyer. 

“ Certain  preliminary  steps  are  necessary?” 
“Yes.” 

“ If  these  were  entered  upon  forthwith,  how  soon 
would  the  child  be  wanted?” 

“ In  about  ten  days.” 

“Very  well.  Begin  the  work  at  once.  When 
the  child  is  needed,  I will  see  that  she  is  forthcoming. 
Trust  me  for  that.  I never  was  foiled  yet  in  any 
thing  that  I set  about  accomplishing,  and  I will  not 
suffer  myself  to  be  foiled  here.” 

With  this  understanding,  Jasper  and  the  lawyer 
parted. 

A week  or  more  passed,  during  which  time  Claire 
heard  nothing  from  the  guardian  of  Fanny;  and 
both  he  and  his  wife  began  to  hope  that  no  further 
attempt  to  get  her  into  his  possession  would  be  made, 
until  the  child  had  reached  her  twelfth  year. 

It  was  in  the  summer-time,  and  Mrs.  Claire  sat, 
late  in  the  afternoon  of  a pleasant  day,  at  one  of 


118 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


the  front-windows  of  her  dwelling,  holding  he? 
youngest  child  in  her  arms. 

“ The  children  are  late  in  coming  home  from 
school/’  said  she,  speaking  aloud  her  thought.  “I 
wonder  what  keeps  them  !” 

And  she  leaned  out  of  the  window,  and  looked 
for  some  time  earnestly  down  the  street. 

But  the  children  were  not  in  sight.  For  some 
five  or  ten  minutes  Mrs.  Claire  played  with  and 
talked  to  the  child  in  her  arms ; then  she  bent  from 
the  window  again,  gazing  first  up  and  then  down  the 
street. 

“ That’s  Edie,  as  I live  !”  she  exclaimed.  “ But 
where  is  Fanny?” 

As  she  uttered  this  inquiry,  a sudden  fear  fell  like 
a heavy  weight  on  her  heart.  Retiring  from  the 
window,  she  hastened  to  the  door,  where,  by  this 
time,  a lady  stood  holding  little  Edie  by  the  hand. 
The  child’s  eyes  were  red  with  weeping. 

“Is  this  your  little  girl?”  asked  the  lady. 

“ Oh,  mamma ! mamma !”  cried  Edie,  bursting  into 
tears,  as  she  sprang  to  her  mother’s  side  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  garments. 

“ Where  did  you  find  her,  ma’am  ? Was  she  lost  ?” 
asked  Mrs.  Claire,  looking  surprised  as  well  as 
alarmed.  “ Won’t  you  walk  in,  ma’am?”  she  added, 
before  there  was  time  for  a reply. 

The  lady  entered,  on  this  invitation,  and  when 
seated  in  Mrs.  Claire’s  little  parlour,  related  that 
while  walking  through  Washington  Square,  she  no- 
ticed the  child  she  had  brought  home,  crying  bitter- 
ly. On  asking  her  as  to  the  cause  of  her  distress, 
she  said  that  she  wanted  Fanny : and  then  ran 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


119 


away  to  some  distance  along  the  walks,  searching 
for  her  lost  companion.  The  lady’s  interest  being 
excited,  she  followed  and  persuaded  the  child  to  tell 
her  where  she  lived.  After  remaining  some  time 
longer  in  the  square,  vainly  searching  for  Fanny;, 
she  was  induced  to  let  the  lady  take  her  home.  Af- 
fer  hearing  this  relation,  Mrs.  Claire  said  to  Edith, 
in  as  calm  a voice  as  she  could  assume,  in  order  that 
the  child  might  think  without  the  confusion  of  mind 
consequent  upon  excitement — 

44  Where  is  Fanny,  dear  ?” 

44  She  went  with  the  lady  to  buy  some  candies,” 
replied  the  child. 

66 What  lady?”  asked  the  mother. 

4 4 The  lady  who  took  us  to  the  square.” 

44  The  lady  who  took  you  to  the  square  ?”  said  the 
mother,  repeating  the  child’s  words  from  the  very 
surprise  they  occasioned 

46  Yes,  mamma,”  was  the  simple  response. 

44  What  lady  was  it  ?” 

44 1 don’t  know.  She  met  us  as  we  were  coming 
home  from  school,  and  asked  us  to  go  down  and  walk 
in  the  square.  She  knew  Fanny.” 

44  How  do  you  know,  dear  ?”  asked  Mrs.  Claire. 

44  Oh,  she  called  her  Fanny ; and  said  what  a nice 
big  girl  she  was  growing  to  be.” 

44  And  so  you  went  down  to  the  square  with 
her?” 

44  Yes,  ma’am.” 

44  And  what  then  ?” 

44  We  walked  about  there  for  a little  while,  and 
then  the  lady  told  me  to  wait  while  she  took  Fanny 
to,  the  candy-store  to  buy  some  candy.  I waited* 


120 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


and  waited  ever  so  long ; but  she  didn’t  come  back  f 
and  then  I cried.” 

The  meaning  of  all  this,  poor  Mrs.  Claire  under- 
stood but  too  well.  With  what  a shock  it  fell  upon 
her.  She  asked  no  further  question.  What  need 
was  there  ? Edie’s  artless  story  made  every  thing 
clear.  Fanny  had  been  enticed  away  by  some  one 
employed  by  Jasper,  and  was  now  in  his  possession  ! 
With  pale  face  and  quivering  lips,  she  sat  bending 
over  Edie,  silent  for  several  moments.  Then  recol- 
lecting herself,  she  said  to  the  lady — 

( “ I thank  you,  ma’am,  most  sincerely,  for  the 
trouble  you  have  taken  in  bringing  home  my  little 
girl.  This  is  a most  distressing  affair.  The  other 
child  has,  evidently,  been  enticed  away.” 

“ You  will  take  immediate  steps  for  her  recovery,” 
said  the  lady. 

“ Oh,  yes.  I expect  my  husband  home,  now, 
every  moment.” 

While  she  was  yet  speaking,  Claire  came  in.  See- 
ing the-  white  face  of  his  wife,  he  exclaimed — 

66  Mercy,  Edith  ! What  has  happened  ?” 

Edith  could  only  murmur  the  word  “ Fanny,”  as 
she  started  forward,  and  buried  her  face,  sobbing, 
on  his  bosom. 

“ Fanny  ! What  of  her  ? Oh,  Edith  ! speak  !’ 
The  agitation  of  the  wife  was,  for  the  time,  too 
overpowering  to  admit  of  words,  and  so  Claire  turn- 
ed to  the  lady  and  said,  hurriedly — 

“ Will  you  tell  me,  madam,  what  has  happened  ?” 
“It  appears,  sir,”  she  replied,  “that  a strange 
lady  enticed  the  children  to  Washington  Square,  on 
their  way  from  school” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS- 


121 


“And  then  carried  off  our  dear,  dear  Fanny  !” 
fobbed  out.  Edith. 

66  Carried  off*  Fanny  !”  exclaimed  Claire. 

“ This  lady,”  said  Edith,  growing  calmer,  “ found 
our  little  Edie  crying,  in  the  square,  and  brought 
her  home.  Edie  says  the  lady  took  them  down 
there,  and  then  told  her  to  wait  until  she  went  with 
Fanny  to  buy  some  candies.  They  went,  but  did 
not  return.” 

The  meaning  of  all  this  was  quite  as  clear  to  the 
mind  of  Edward  Claire  as  it  was  to  his  wife.  He 
understood,  likewise,  that  this  was  the  work  of  Jas- 
per, and  that  Fanny  was  now  in  his  possession. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?” 

“ Our  first  step,”  said  Claire,  after  the  stranger 
had  retired,  “must  be  to  ascertain,  if  possible, 
■whether  wdiat  we  believe  to  be  true  in  regard  to  Fan- 
ny is  really  true.  We  must  know  certainly,  whether 
she  be  really  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Jasper.” 

“Where  else  can  she  be?”  asked  Edith,  a new 
fear  throwing  its  quick  flash  into  her  face. 

“We,  naturally,”  replied  her  husband,  “take  it 
for  granted  that  Mr.  Jasper  has  put  his  threat  into 
execution.  There  is  a bare  possibility  that  such  is 
not  the  case ; and  we  must  not  rest  until  we  have, 
on  this  point,  the  most  absolute  certainty.” 

“For  what  other  purpose  could  she  have  been  en- 
ticed away  ?”  said  Mrs.  Claire,  her  face  again  blanch- 
ing to  a deadly  paleness. 

“We  know  nothing  certain,  Edith ; and  while 
this  is  the  case,  we  cannot  but  feel  a double  anxiety. 
But,  I must  not  linger  here.  Be  as  calm  as  possi- 
ble, my  deal  wife,  in  this  painful  trial.  I will  go 

11 


122 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


at  once  to  Mr.  Jasper,  and  learn  from  him  whether 
he  has  the  child.” 

“Go  quickly,  Edward,”  said  Edith.  “-Oh!  it 
will  be  such  a relief  to  have  a certainty ; to  know 
even  that  she  is  in  his  hands.” 

Without  further  remark,  Claire  left  his  house  ana 
hurried  olf  to  the  store  of  Jasper.  The  merchant 
was  not  there.  From  one  of  his  clerks  he  learned 
his  present  residence,  which  happened  not  to  be  far 
distant.  Thither  he  went,  and,  on  asking  to  see 
him,  was  told  by  the  servant  that  he  was  not  at 
home.  He  then  inquired  for  Mrs.  Jasper,  who,  on 
being  summoned,  met  him  in  one  of  the  parlours.  The 
manner  of  Claire  was  very  much  agitated,  and  he 
said,  with  an  abruptness  that  evidently  disconcerted 
the  lady — \ 

“ Good  evening,  madam ! My  name  is  Claire. 
You  remember  me,  of  course  ?” 

The  lady  bowed  coldly,  and  with  a frown  on  her 
brow. 

“Is  little  Fanny  Elder  here?”  was  asked,  and 
with  even  greater  abruptness. 

“ Fanny  Elder  ? No  ! Why  do  you  ask  that 
question  ?” 

There  was  something  so  positive  in  the  denial  cf 
Mrs.  Jasper,  that  Claire  felt  her  words  as  truth. 

“Not  here?”  said  he,  catching  his  breath  in  a 
gasping  manner.  “ Not  here  ?” 

“ I said  that  she  was  not  here,”  was  the  reply. 

“ Oh,  where  then  is  she,  madam  ?”  exclaimed  the 
young  man,  evincing  great  distress. 

“ How  should  I know?  Is  she  not  in  your  pos- 
session ? What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Mr.  Claiie  V' 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


123 


The  lady  spoke  sternly,  and  with  the  air  of  one 
both  offended  and  irritated. 

“ Somebody  enticed  her  away,  on  her  return 
from  school  this  afternoon,”  said  Claire.  “Mr. 
Jasper  said  that  he  would  have  hpr ; and  my  first 
and  natural  conclusion  was  that  he  had  executed  his 
threat.  Oh,  ma’am,  if  this  be  so,  tell  me,  that 
my  anxiety  for  the  child’s  safety  may  have  rest. 
As  it  is,  I am  in  the  most  painful  uncertainty.  If 
she  is  here,  I will  feel,  at  least” 

“ Have  I not  told  you  that  she  is  not  here,  and 
that  I know  nothing  of  her,”  said  Mrs.  Jasper,  an- 
grily, interrupting  the  young  man.  “ This  is  inso- 
lent.” 

“ How  soon  do  you  expect  Mr.  Jasper  home  ?”  in- 
quired Claire. 

“Not  for  several  days,”  replied  Mrs.  Jasper. 

“ Days  ! Is  he  not  in  the  cjty  ?” 

“No,  sir.  He  left  town  yesterday.” 

Glaire  struck  his  hands  together  in  disappoint- 
ment and  grief.  This  confirmed  to  him  the  lady’s 
assertion  that  she  knew  nothing  of  Fanny.  In  that 
assertion  she  had  uttered  the  truth. 

Sadly  disappointed,  and  in  far  deeper  distress  ot 
mind  than  when  he  entered  the  house,  Edward 
Claire  retired.  If  Mr.  Jasper  left  the  city  on  the 
day  previous,  and  his  wife  had,  as  he  could  not  help 
believing,  no  knowledge  whatever  of  Fanny,  then 
the  more  distressing  inference  was  that  she  had  been 
enticed  away  by  some  stranger. 

On  his  way  home,  Claire  called  again  at  the  store 
of  Jasper.  It  occurred  to  him  to  ask  there  as  to  his 
absence  from  the  city , The  reply  he  received  was 


124 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


in  agreement  with  Mrs.  Jasper’s  assertion.  He  had 
left  town  on  the  previous  day.  • * 

\J  “ Where  has  he  gone?”  he  inquired. 

“ To  Reading,  I believe,”  was  the  answer. 

“ Will  he  return  soon  ?” 

^Not  for  several  days,  I believe.” 

With  a heavy  heart,  Claire  bent  his  way  home- 
ward. He  cherished  a faint  hope  that  Fanny  might 
have  returned.  The  hope  was  vain.  Here  he  lin- 
gered but  a short  time.  His  next  step  was  to  give 
information  to  the  police,  and  to  furnish  for  all  the 
morning  papers  an  advertisement,  detailing  the  cir- 
cumstances attendant  on  the  child’s  abduction.  This 
done,  he  again  returned  home,  to  console,  the  besf 
he  could,  his  afflicted  wife,  and  to  wait  the  develop 
ments  of  the  succeeding  day. 

Utterly  fruitless  were  all  the  means  used  by 
Claire  to  gain  intelligence  of  the  missing  child. 
Two  days  went  by,  yet  not  the  least  clue  to  the 
mystery  of  her  absence  had  been  found.  There 
was  no  response  to  the  newspaper  advertisements  : 
and  the  police  confessed  themselves  entirely  at 
fault. 

Exhausted  by  sleepless  anxiety,  broken  in  spirit 
by  this  distressing  affliction,  and  almost  despairing 
in  regard  to  the  absent  one,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Claire 
were  seated  alone,  about  an  hour  after  dark  on  the 
• evening  of  the  third  day,  when  the  noise  of  rum- 
bling wheels  ceased  before  their  door.  Each  bent 
an  ear,  involuntarily,  to  listen,  and  each  started  with 
an  exclamation,  as  the  bell  rang  witl  a sudden  jerk. 
Almost  simultaneously,  the  noise  of  wheels  was 
again  heard,  and  a carriage  rolled  rapidly  away* 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS.  12£ 


Two  or  three  quick  bounds  brought  Claire  to  the 
door,  which  he  threw  open. 

“ Fanny  !”  he  instantly  exclaimed;  and  in  the 
next  moment  the  child  was  in  his  arms,  clinging  to 
him,  and  weeping  for  joy  at  her  return. 

With  a wonderful  calmness,  Mrs.  Claire  re- 
ceived Fanny  from  her  husband,  murmuring  as  she 
did  so,  in  a subdued,  yet  deeply  gratified  voice — 

“ 0,  God  ! I thank  thee  !” 

But  this  calmness  in  a little  while  gave  way,  and 
her  overstrained,  but  now  joyful  feelings,  poured 
themselves  forth  in  tears. 

Poor  child!  She  too  had  suffered  during  these 
three  never-to-be-forgotten  days,  and  the  marks  of 
that  suffering  were  sadly  visible  in  her  pale,  grief- 
touched  countenance. 

To  the  earnest  inquiries  of  her  foster-parents, 
Fanny  could  give  no  very  satisfactory  answer. 
She  had  no  sooner  left  the  square  with  the  lady 
mentioned  by  little  Edith,  than  she  was  hurried  into 
a carriage,  and  driven  off  to  the  cars,  where  a man 
met  them.  This  man,  she  said,  spoke  kindly  to  her, 
showed  her  his  watch,  and  told  her  if  she  would  be 
a good  girl  and  not  cry,  he  would  take  her  home 
again.  In  the  cars,  they  rode  for  a long  time, 
until  it  grew  dark ; and  still  she  said  the  cars  kept 
going.  After  a while  she  fell  asleep,  and  when  she 
awoke  it  was  morning,  and  she  was  lying  on  a bed. 
The  same  lady  was  with  her,  and,  speaking  kindly, 
told  her  not  to  be  frightened — that  nobody  would 
hurt  her,  and  that  she  should  go  home  in  a day  or 
two. 

“But  I did  nothing  but  cry,”  said  the  child,  in 

11* 


126 


TRUE  RICHES ) OR, 


her  own  simple  way,  as  she  related  her  story* 
“ Then  the  lady  scolded  me,  until  I was  frightened, 
and  tried  to  keep  back  the  tears  all  I could.  But 
they  would  run  down  my  cheeks.  A good  while 
after  breakfast,”  continued  -Fanny,  44the  man  who 
had  met  us  at  the  cars  came  in  with  another  man. 
They  talked  with  the  lady  for  a good  while,  looking 
at  me  as  they  spoke.  Then  they  all  came  around 
me,  and  one  of  the  men  said — 

44  4 Don’t  be  frightened,  my  little  dear.  No  one 
will  do  you  any  harm;  and  if  you  will  be  a right 
good  girl,  and  do  just  as  we  want  you  to  do,  you 
shall  go  home  to-morrow.’ 

44  I tried  not  to  cry,  but  the  tears  came  running 
down  my  face.  Then  the  other  man  said  sharply — 
“ 4 Come  now,  my  little  lady,  we  can’t  have  any 
more  of  this ! If  you  wish  to  go  home  again  to- 
morrow, dry  your  tears  at  once.  There ! there ! 
Hush  all  them  sobs.  No  one  is  going  to  do  you 
any  harm.’ 

44 1 was  'so  frightened  at  the  way  the  man  looked 
and  talked, Ahat  I stopped  crying  at  once. 

44 4 There  !’  said  he, 6 that  is  something  like. . Now/ 
speaking  to  the  lady,  4 put  on  her  things.  It  is  time 
she  was  there.’ 

44 1 was  more  frightened  at  this,  and  the  men 
saw  it ; so  one  of  them  told  me  not  to  be  alarmed, 
that  they  were  only  going  to  show  me  a large, 
handsome  house,  and  would  then  bring  me  right 
back ; and  that  in  the  morning,  if  I would  go  with 
them  now,  and  be  a good  girl,  I should  go  home 
again. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


127 


“ So  I went  with  them,  and  tried  my  best  not  to 
cry.  They  brought  me  into  a large  house,  and 
there  were  a good  many  men  inside.  The  men  all 
looked  at  me,  and  I was  so  frightened ! Then  they 
talked  together,  and  one  of  them  kept  pointing 
toward  me.  At  last  I was  taken  back  to  the 
house,  where  I stayed  all  day  and  all  night  with  the 
lady.  This  morning  we  got  into  the  cars,  and 
came  back  to  the  city.  The  lady  took  me  to  a 
large,  house  in  Walnut  street,  where  I stayed  until 
after  dark,  and  then  she  brought  me  home  in  a 
carriage.” 

Such  was  the  child’s  story ; and  greatly  puzzled 
were  Claire  and  his  wife  to  comprehend  its  mean- 
ing. Their  joy  at  her  return  was  intense.  She 
seemed  almost  as  if  restored  to  them  from  the 
dead.  But,  for  what  purpose  had  she  been  carried 
off;  and  who  were  the  parties  engaged  in  the 
act  ? These  were  questions  of  the  deepest  mo- 
ment; yet  difficult,  if  not  impossible  of  solution — - 
at  least  in  the  present.  That  Jasper’s  absence 
from  the  city  was  in  some  way  connected  with 
this  business,  Claire  felt  certain,  the  more  he  re- 
flected thereon.  But,  that  Fanny  should  be  re- 
turned to  him  so  speedily,  if  Jasper  had  been  con- 
cerned in  her  temporary  abduction,  was  something 
that  he  could  not  clearly  understand.  And  it 
was  a long  time  ere  the  mystery  was  entirely  un- 
ravelled. 


128 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

From  that  time  Claire  and  his  wife  heard  no 
more  from  Jasper,  who  regularly  paid  the  sums 
quarterly  demanded  for  Fanny’s  maintenance.  This 
demand  was  not  now  made  in  person  by  Claire.  He 
sent  a written  order,  which  the  guardian  never 
failed  to  honour  on  the  first  presentation. 

Mr.  Melleville,  according  to  promise,  called 
upon  the  firm  of  Edgar  & Co.,  in  order  to  speak 
a good  word  for  Edward ; but  learned,  not  a little 
to  his  surprise,  that  no  vacancy  was  anticipated  in 
the  house. 

“Mr.  Jasper,”  said  he,  “told  one  of  my  young 
men  that  a clerk  had  left,  or  was  about  leaving 
you.”  # 

“It’s  a mistake,”  was  the  positive  answer.  “ He 
may  have  meant  some  other  firm.” 

“All  a wicked  deception  on  the  part  of  Jasper,” 
said  Melleville  to  himself,  as  he  left  the  store.  “ A 
lie  told  with  sinister  purpose.  How  given  over  to 
all  baseness  is  the  man  !” 

Claire  was  no  little  disappointed  when  this  was 
told  him ; but  his  answer  showed  how  he  was 
gaining  in  just  views  of  life ; and  how  he  could 
lean  on  right  principles  and  find  in  them  a firm 
support. 

“ I would  rather,”  said  he,  “be  the  deceived  than 
the  deceiver.  The  one  most  wronged  in  this  is 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WlJNGS. 


129 


Leonard  Jasper.  Ah  ! is  he  not  preparing  for  hin^ 
self  a sad  future  ? As  for  me,  I am  more  and 
more  satisfied,  every  day,  that  all  events,  even  to 
the  most  minute,  are  in  the  direction  or  permis- 
sion of  Providence  ; and  that  out  of  the  very  oc- 
currences we  deem  afflictive  and  disastrous,  will 
often  arise  our  greatest  good.  For  the  moment  I 
was  disappointed;  but  now  I feel  that  it  is  all 
right.” 

No  change  of  marked  importance  occurred  in 
the  family  of  Claire  during  the  next  two  years,  to 
the  close  of  which  period  both  he  and  his  wife 
looked  with  increasing  earnestness  of  mind.  Fanny 
had  grown  rapidly  during  this  time,  and  wras  now 
tall  for  her  age — and  still  very  beautiful.  In  cha- 
racter she  was  every  thing  the  fondest  parents  could 
desire. 

At  last  came  the  child’s  twelfth  birthday.  Nei- 
ther Clare  nor  his  wife  referred  to  the  fact ; though 
it  was  present  to  both  their  minds — present  like  an 
evil  guest.  Must  they  now  give  her  up  ? Their 
hearts  shrank  and  trembled  at  the  bare  idea.  How 
plainly  each  read  in  the  other’s  face  the  trouble 
which  only  the  lips  concealed! 

Never  had  Fanny  looked  so  lovely  in  the  eyes  of 
Claire  as  she  did  on  that  morning,  when  she  bound- 
ed to  his  side  and  claimed  a parting  kiss,  ere  he  left 
for  his  daily  round  of  business.  Could  he  give  her 
up  ? The  thought  choked  in  thpir  utterance  the 
words  of  love  that  were  on  his  lips,  and  he  turned 
from  her  and  left  the  house. 

As  Claire,  on  his  way  to  Mr.  Melleville’s  store, 
came  into  the  more  business  portions  of  the  city,  his 


130 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


thoughts  on  the  child  who  was  soon  to  oe  resigned, 
according  to  the  tenor  of  his  contract  with  her  guar- 
dian, he  was  suddenly  startled  by  seeing  Jasper  a 
, short  distance  ahead,  approaching  from  the  direc- 
tion in  which  he  was  going.  Happening,  at  the  mo- 
ment, to  be  near  a cross  street,  he  turned  off  sud- 
denly, in  obedience  to  an  instinct  rather  than  a 
purpose,  and  avoided  a meeting  by  going  out  of  his 
way. 

“How  vain,,,  he  sighed  to  himself,  as  the  throb- 
bing of  his  heart  grew  less  heavy  and  his  thoughts 
ran  clear.  “ I cannot  so  avoid  this  evil.  It  will 
most  surely  find  me  out.  Dear,  dear  child ! How 
shall  we  ever  bear  the  parting !” 

All  day  long  Claire  was  in  momentary  dread  of  a 
visit  or  a communication  from  Jasper.  But  none 
came.  A like  anxiety  had  been  suffered  by  his  wife, 
and  it  showed  itself  in  the  pallor  of  her  cheeks,  and 
the  heavy,  almost  tearful,  drooping  of  her  eyelids. 

The  next  day  and  the  next  passed,  and  yet 
nothing  was  heard  from  the  guardian.  Now,  the 
true  guardians  of  the  child  began  to  breathe  more 
freely.  A week  elapsed,  and  all  remained  as  before. 
Another  week  was  added ; another  and  another.  A 
month  had  gone  by.  And  yet  the  days  of  a suc- 
ceeding month  came  and  went,  the  child  still  re- 
maining in  her  old  home. 

Up  to  this  time  but  brief  allusions  had  been  made 
by  either  Claire  or  his  wife  to  the  subject  first  in 
their  thoughts.  They  avoided  it,  because  each  felt 
that  the  other  would  confirm,  rather  than  allay, 
fears  already  too  well  defined. 

is  strange,”  said  Claire,  as  he  sat  alone  with 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


131 


his  wife  one  evening,  some  three  months  subsequent 
to  the  twelfth  birthday  of  Fanny,  “that  we  have 
heard  nothing  yet  from  Mr.  Jasper.” 

Edith  looked  up  quickly,  and  with  a glance  of 
inquiry,  into  his  face  ; but  made  no  answer. 

“ I’ve  turned  it  over  in  my  mind  a great  deal,” 
resumed  Claire,  thoughtfully;  “but  with  little  or 
no  satisfactory  result.  Once  I thought  I would  call 
on  him” — — 

“Oh,  no,  no!  not  for  the  world!”  instantly  ex- 
claimed Edith. 

“ I see,  with  you,  dear,  that  such  a step  would  be 
imprudent.  And,  yet,  this  suspense — how  painful 
it  is  !” 

“Painful,  it  is  true,  Edward;  yet,  how  in  every 
way  to  be  preferred  to  the  certainty  we  so  much 
dread.” 

“ 0 yes- — yes.  I agree  with  you  there.”  Then, 
after  a pause,  he  said,  “It  is  now  three  months  since 
the  time  expired  for  which  we  agreed  to  keep  Fanny.” 

“ I know,”  was  the  sighing  response. 

They  both  remained  silent,  each  waiting  for  the 
other  to  speak.  The  same  thought  was  in  the  mind 
of  each.  Excited  by  the  close  pressure  of  want  upon 
their  income,  Edward  was  first  to  give  it  voice. 

“Mr.  Jasper,”  said  he,  touching  the  subject  at 
first  remotely,  “ may  have  forgotten,  in  the  pressure 
of  business  on  his  attention,  the  fact  that  Fanny  is 
now  twelve  years  old.” 

“ So  I have  thought,”  replied  Edith. 

“ If  I send,  as  usual,  for  the  sum  heretofore  regu- 
larly paid  for  her  maintenance,  it  may  bring  this  fact 
to  his  mind.” 


132 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


“ I Lave  feared  as  much,”  was  the  low,  half-tremu« 
lous  response. 

“ And  yet,  if  I do  not  send,  the  very  omission  may 
excite  a question,  and  produce  the  consequences  we 
fear.” 

“ True,  Edward.  All  that  has  passed  through  my 
mind  over  and  over  again.” 

“ What  had  we  better  do  ?” 

“ Ah  !”  sighed  Edith,  “if  we  only  knew  that.” 

“ Shall  I send  the  order,  as  usual  ?” 

Edith  shook  her  head,  saying — 

“I’m  afraid.” 

“ And  I hesitate  with  the  same  fear.” 

“And  yet,  Edith,”  said  Claire,  who,  as  the  pro- 
vider for  the  family,  pondered  more  anxiously  the 
question  of  ways  and  means,  “ what  are  we  to  do  ? 
Our  income,  with  Fanny’s  board  added,  is  but  just 
sufficient.  Take  away  three  hundred  dollars  a year, 
and  where  will  we  stand  ? The  thought  presses  like 
a leaden  weight  on  my  feelings.  Debt,  or  severe 
privation,  is  inevitable.  If,  with  eight  hundred  dol- 
lars, we  only  come  out  even  at  the  end  of  each  year, 
what  will  be  the  result  if  our  income  is  suddenly  re- 
duced to  five  hundred?” 

“ Let  us  do  what  is  right,  Edward,”  said  his  wife, 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  looking  into  his 
face  in  her  earnest,  peculiar  way.  Her  voice,  though 
it  slightly  trembled,  had  in  it  a tone  of  confidence, 
which,  with  the  words  she  had  spoken,  gave  to  the 
wavering  heart  of  Claire  an  instant  feeling  of 
strength. 

“But  what  is  right,  Edith?”  he  asked. 

“We  know  not  now,”  was  her  reply,  “ but,  if  w© 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


133 


earnestly  desire  to  do  right,  true  perceptions  will 
be  given.” 

“ A beautiful  faith ; but  oh,  how  hard  to  realize !” 

“ No,  Edward,  not  so  very  hard.  We  have  never 
found  it  so  : have  we  ?” 

Love  and  holy  confidence  were  in  her  eyes. 

46  We  have  had  some  dark  seasons,  Edith,”  said 
Claire  sadly. 

“ But,  through  darkest  clouds  has  come  the  sun- 
beam. Our  feet  have  not  wandered  for  want  of 
light.  Look  back  for  a moment.  How  dark  all 
seemed  when  the  question  of  leaving  Jasper’s  service 
came  up  for  decision.  And  yet  how  clear  a light 
shone  when  the  time  for  action  came.  Have  you 
ever  regretted  what  was  then  done,  Edward?” 

“ Not  in  a sane  moment,”  replied  the  young  man. 
“ 0 no,  no,  Edith!”  speaking  more  earnestly; 
“ that,  with  one  exception,  was  the  most  important 
act  of  my  life.” 

“ With  one  exception?”  Edith  spoke  in  a tone 
of  inquiry. 

46  Yes.”  Claire’s  voice  was  very  tender,  and 
touched  with  a slight  unsteadiness.  The  mcst  im- 
portant act  of  my  life  was” ✓ 

He  paused  and  gazed  lovingly  into  the  face  of  his 
wife.  She,  now  comprehending  him,  laid,  with  a 
pure  thrill  of  joy  pervading  her  bosom,  her  cheek  to 
his — -and  thus,  for  the  space  of  nearly  a minute, 
they  sat  motionless. 

“ May  God  bless  you,  Edith  !”  said  Claire  at  length, 
fervently,  lifting  his  head  as  he  spoke.  “ You  are 
the  good  angel  sent  to  go  with  me  through  life.  Ah ! 
but  for  you,  how  far  from  the  true  path  might  my 


134 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


feet  hare  strayed!  And  now,”  he  added,  more 
calmly,  “we  will  look  at  the  present  difficulty  stea- 
dily, and  seek  to  know  the  right.” 

“ The  right  way,”  said  Edith,  after  she  had  to 
some  extent  repressed  the  glad  pulses  that  leaped 
to’  her  husband’s  loving  words,  “ is  not  always  the 
way  in  which  we  most  desire  to  walk.  Thorns, 
sometimes,  are  at  its  entrance.  But  it  grows  plea- 
santer afterward.” 

“ If  we  can  find  the  right  way,  Edith,  we  will  walk 
in  it  because, it  is  the  right  way.” 

“ And  we  will  surely  find  it  if  we  seek  in  this 
spirit,”  returned  the  wife. 

“ What,  then,  had  we  best  do  ?”  asked  Claire,  his 
thought  turning  earnestly  to  the  subject  under  con- 
sideration. 

“ What  will  be  best  for  Fanny  ? That  should  be 
our  first  consideration,”  said  his  wife.  “Will  it  be 
best  for  her  to  remain  with  us,  or  to  go  into  Mr. 
Jasper’s  family?” 

“ That  is  certainly  a grave  question,”  returned 
Claire,  seriously,  “and  must  be  viewed  in  many 
aspects.  Mr.  Jasper’s  place  in  the  world  is  far  dif- 
ferent from  mine.  He  is  a wealthy  merchant ; I 
am  a poor  clerk.  If  she  goes  into  his  family,  she 
will  have  advantages  not  to  be  found  with  us— ad- 
vantages of  education,  society,  and  position  in  life. 
To  keep  her  with  us  will  debar  her  from  all  these. 
Taking  this  view  of  the  case,  Edith,  I don’t  know 
that  we  have  any  right  to  keep  her  longer,  particu- 
larly as  Mr.  Jasper  has  signified  to  us,  distinctly, 
his  wish,  as  her  guardian,  to  take  her  into  his  own 
family,  and  superintend  her  education.” 


r . 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS.  135 


Edith  bent  her  head,  thoughtfully,  for  some  mo- 
ments. She  then  said— 

“Do  you  believe  that  Mr.  Jasper  gave  the  truo 
reason  for  wishing  to  have  Fanny?” 

“ That  he  might  superintend  her  education  ?” 
“Yes.” 

“ No,  Edith,  I do  not.  I believe  a selfish  motive 
alone  influenced  him.” 

“You  have  good  reasons  for  so  thinking  ?” 

“ The  best  of  reasons.  I need  not  repeat  them ; 
they  are  as  familiar  to  you  as  they  are  to  me.” 

“ Do  you  believe  that,  under  his  superintendence, 
she  will  receive  a better  education  than  under 
ours  ?” 

“ She  will,  undoubtedly,  Edith,  if  remaining  with 
us  she  fails  to  bring  the  means  of  education.  We 
are  poor,  Edith,  and  the  claims  of  our  own  children 
— bone  of  our  bone  and  flesh  of  our  flesh — must 
not  be  forgotten.” 

A quick  change  passed  over  Edith.  Her  counte- 
nance became  troubled.  The  difficulties  in  the  way 
of  retaining  the  child  were  suddenly  magnified  to 
her  thoughts.  Ah ! how  painfully  did  she  feel  that 
often  the  first  steps  in  the  way  of  duty  are  among 
thorns. 

“ Can  we  be  just  to  Fanny  and  just  also  to  our 
©wn  children  ?”  asked  Claire. 

“ If  we  still  received  the  old  sum  for  her  main- 
tenance, we  could.  I would  not  ask  its  increase  to 
the  amount  of  a single  dollar.” 

“Nor  I,  Edith.  Were  we  certain  of  having  this 
continued,  there  would  be  no  doubt.’” 

“There  would  be  none  in  my  mini.  As  for 


136 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


the  higher  position  in  society  which  she  would  attain, 
as  an  inmate  of  Mr.  Jasper's  family,  that  might  not 
be  to  her  the  greatest  good ; but  prove  the  most 
direful  evil.  She  could  not  be  guarded  there,  in 
her  entrance  into  life,  as  we  would  guard  her.  The 
same  love  would  not  surround  her  as  a protecting 
sphere.  I tremble  at  the  thought,  Edward.  How 
great  would  be  her  danger ! Fourfold  would  be  hex 
temptation,  and  tenfold  her  exposure." 

“We  will  keep  her,"  said  Claire,  firmly,  as  his 
wife  ceased  speaking.  “ She  must  not  be  so  ex- 
posed. God  has  given  her  to  us ; she  is  our 
child,  for  we  love  her  as  tenderly  as  if  she  were 
of  our  own  blood.  When  her  mother  was  taken, 
God  transferred  the  love  she  had  borne  her  child 
into  your  bosom,  and  from  that  time  you  became 
her  mother.  No,  Edith,  we  must  not  let  her  go 
forth,  in  her  tender  innocence.  We  love  her  as 
our  own  ; let  us  share  with  her  the  best  we  have ; 
let  her  become  more  really  our  own  than  she  has 
yet  been." 

“ If,"  said  Edith,  after  some  moments,  “ we  lose 
the  regular  income  from  Mr.  Jasper,  Fanny  will  be 
deprived  of  most  important  advantages.  Just  now 
we  are  about  adding  materially  to  the  cost  of  her 
education." 

“ I know,"  replied  Edward.  “ But  if  the  income 
is  withheld  ?" 

“We  have  not  yet  applied  for  it." 

Claire  looked,  for  some  moments,  steadily  into 
his  wife's  face. 

“You  think,  then,  that  we  should  make  the  usual 
application  ?" 


i 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


137 


“I  have  not  said  so,  Edward.  My  mind  is  far 
from  clear.  Jasper  may  not,  now,  want  the  trouble 
of  Fanny.  He  doubtless  had  some  purpose  to 
subserve  when  he  demanded  her ; a purpose  gained, 
probably,  at  the  time  of  her  mysterious  removal 
from  the  city,  which  I have  always  believed  was 
through  his  agency.  If  you  were  to  send  for  the 
money,  as  usual,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  he 
would  pay  it.” 

64  But,  if  he  should  refuse,  and  demand  the 
child?” 

44  If  his  purpose  to  do  this  remains,  and  he  has 
forgotten  Fanny's  age,  your  omission  to  send  for 
the  money  will  be  more  likely  to  call  his  thought  to 
the  subject,  than  your  regular  demand  for  the  price 
of  her  maintenance.” 

44  True.” 

44  And  if  he  still  means  to  have  her,  the  execu 
tion  of  his  purpose  cannot  in  any  event  be  long 
delayed.” 

44  No.” 

44  Can  we  unaided  give  her  the  education  she  is 
entitled  to  receive?”. 

Claire  shook  his  head. 

44  Then  had  we  not  better  continue  to  apply  for 
the  sum  necessary  to  her  support  and  education.  If 
Mr.  Jasper  is  indifferent  about  her,  the  money  will 
be  paid  as  usual ; if  he*  means  to  take  her  into  his 
own  family,  our  failure  to  apply  will  defer  but  for 
a very  short  season  the  evil  day.” 

Edith's  mind  had  become  clear  by  this  time.  Her 
husband  not  making  a'i  immediate  reply,  she 
added — 

i 


12* 


138 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


“ This  acting  on  mere  policy,  is  never,  I think,  tha 
wisest.  Does  it  not  clearly  involve  a distrust  in 
Providence,  and  a weak  reliance  on  mere  human 
prudence?  There  is  a provision  for  Fanny’s  sup- 
port and  education,  and  she  is  justly  entitled  to  all 
those  natural  advantages  which  this  provision  was 
designed  to  give.  Under  Providence,  Mr.  Jasper 
has  been  chosen  her  guardian ; and  under  Provi- 
dence the  personal  care  of  the  child  has  fallen  to 
our  lot.  Thus  far  we  have  endeavoured  to  discharge 
our  duty  faithfully — thus  far  we  have  done  as  well 
by  the  child  as  if  she  had  been  our  own.  Now,  if 
it  is  best  for  her  to  remain  with  us,  the  same  Provi- 
dence will  so  dispose  of  events  as  to  provide  for  her 
remaining ; but  if  it  is  best  for  her  to  go  into  the 
family  of  Mr.  Jasper,  she  will  go  .there.  Let  us 
not,  therefore,  in  our  practical  distrust  of  Provi- 
dence, seek  to  hide  ourselves  from  the  observation 
of  a mere  creature.” 

“ I see  much  in  this,”  said  Claire,  as  soon  as  his 
wife  had  ceased  speaking.  “ Man  proposes;  God 
disposes.  With  Him  are  all  our  ways.  Out  of  the 
evil  designs  and  selfish  purposes  of  men,  He  is  ever 
bringing  forth  good.” 

“ Then  let  us  not  fear  to  trust  him.  As  we 
have  been  doing,  let  us  continue  to  do,  confidently 
believing  that  He  will  overrule  all  for  good.  To 
our  present  sight,  it  seems,  that,  unless  we  receive, 
as  heretofore,  a sum  of  money  for  Fanny’s  support 
and  education,  we  cannot  do  for  her  what  is  right. 
This,  at  least,  is  my  view.” 

44  And  it  is  mine,”  replied  the  husband. 

# 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


139 


u Then  let  us  act  from  the  light  we  have,  None 
can  do  better  than  this.” 

And  so  it  was  determined  to  send  an  order  to 
Jasper,  as  usual. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

On  the  next  day,  a fellow-clerk,  who  had  always 
performed  this  little  service  for  Claire,  took  the 
order  to  Jasper.  With  a nervous  impatience  that 
he  found  it  impossible  to  repress,  Claire  awaited  his 
return.  On  his  appearance,  he  said,  with  ill-con- 
cealed anxiety — 

“ Did  he  pay  the  order  ?” 

The  young  man  shook  his  head. 

“ What!  Didn’t  pay  it?”  Though  half-ex- 
pecting such  a result,  he  was  none  the  more  pre- 
pared for  it,  nor  the  less  disturbed  when  it  was 
known. 

“No  ; he  said  that  the  contract  entered  into  with 
you  for  boarding  the  child  was  at  an  end  three 
months  ago.” 

“ What  else  did  he  say  ?” 

“ Nothing  else.” 

“ Did  he  send  no  message  to  me  of  any  kind  ?” 

“ None.  When  I handed  him  the  order,  he 
pushed  it  back,  and  used  the  words  I have  repeated. 
I waited  a little  while  for  some  further  remark,  but 
he  made  none.” 

“ Did  he  seem  angry  ?” 


140 


TRUE  RICHES  ; OR, 


“ Not  angry ; but  rather  pleased,  I should  say. 
There  was  a heartless  smile  on  his  face,  as  if  he  en- 
joyed the  act  of  refusal.” 

Claire  made  no  further  remark.  For  a time  he 
' groped  about,  mentally,  like  one  in  darkness  and 
lost.  It  appeared  as  if  there  was  no  escape ; as 
if  the  evil  which  had  long  dogged  his  steps  was 
upon  him.  But  in  a short  time,  a ray  of  light 
shone  in  here  and  there,  paths  that  might  be 
walked  in  safely  were  dimly  perceived — escape 
seemed  possible.  Still,  he  was  deeply  depressed 
and  sorely  troubled. 

Edith  received  the  intelligence  in  a calmer  spirit 
than  her  husband  had  expected. 

“ The  way  will  be  made  plain  before  us,”  said  she. 
“ It  is  plainer  now  than  it  was  last  night — much 
plainer.” 

“ How  can  you  say  that,  Edith  ?” 

“ Mr.  Jasper  has  refused  to  pay  any  thing  more 
to  us  for  Fanny’s  support.” 

“Yes.” 

“ But  in  the  refusal  said  nothing  about  our  giving 
her  up  to  him.” 

“ Well  ?” 

“ I gather  from  this,  and  the  fact  that  he  was 
aware  of  her  being  twelve  years  old,  that  he  does 
not  really  want  her  now  in  his  own  family,  but  re- 
fuses to  pay  us  for  her  board  and  education  from  a 
feeling  of  ill-will  toward  you.  His  manner  to  the 
young  man  who  presented  the  order  clearly  indi- 
cates this.” 

“ You  may  be  right  there,  Edith,”  said  Claire,  a 
further  light  breaking  into  his  mind.  “We  have  at 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


141 


least  ‘done  our  duty  toward  Fanny  in  making  this 
demand  on  her  guardian.  And  now,  the  question 
left  for  us  to  decide  may  be  whether  it  will  be  just 
toward  her,  and  also  toward  our  own  children,  still 
to  keep  her  in  our  own  family,  and  let  her  share, 
with  the  others,  the  best  that  it  is  in  our  power  to 
give.” 

“ And  will  it  be  hard  to  make  that  decision  ?” 
said  Edith,  a slight  flush  coming  into  her  earnest 
face. 

“ I think  not,”  was  the  firm  reply. 

“Have  we  loved  her  less  than  our  own?”  asked 
Edith. 

“ I believe  not.” 

“Love  seeks  the  highest  good  for  its  object.” 

“ Yes — yes.” 

“ Can  a stranger  love  the  child  as  we  have  loved 
her?” 

Claire  shook  his  head. 

“ Can  a stranger,  even  with  more  of  what  the 
World  gives,  yet  with  less  of  a genuine  affection,  se- 
cure for  her,  as  we  may,  what  should  justly  be  re- 
garded as  the  highest  good  in  life.” 

“ No  stranger  can  ever  be  to  her,  Edith,  what  you 
have  been;  and  will  continue  to  be.” 

“ We  must  not  thrust  her  out,  Edward.  We  can- 
not thrust  her  out.  While  God  permits  her  to  re- 
main, let  us  keep  her,  assured  that  He  will  send  for 
her  use  all  things  needful.” 

“ Most  cheerfully  will  I prolong  my  daily  toil  for 
her  sake,”  replied  Claire ; “ and  cheerfully  will  I 
make  sacrifice  of  personal  comfort.  Yes,  let  her  re- 
main where  she  is,  so  long  as,  in  God’s  providence, 


142 


TRUE  RICHES;  or, 


she  is  permitted  to  remain.  If  Jasper  continues  to 
withhold  the  price  of  her  maintenance,  there  will 
be  the  more  left  for  her  when  she  becomes  of  age ; 
and  then,  if  there  are  defects  in  her  education,  a 
few  years  of  earnest  application  on  her  part,  \^ill  re- 
move them.  Even  now,  we  could  compel  him  to  pay 
for  her  a reasonable  sum,  but  in  securing  this,  we 
would  assuredly  lose  the  child,  for  this  man’s  anger 
would  burn  hot  against  us.” 

44 1 have  thought  of  that,”  replied  Edith.  44  No, 
our  only  plain  course,  for  the  present,  is  to  look  away 
from  Jasper,  and  regard  Fanny  as  one  of  our  own 
children.” 

To  this  conclusion  the  mind  of  Claire  and  his  wife 
came  firmly.  Then  the  painful  agitation  they  had 
for  some  time  suffered  gradually  subsided,  and  they 
began  earnestly  to  cast  about  for  the  ways  and 
means  whereby  so  large  an  extra  draft  as  was  likely 
to  be  made  upon  their  slender  income  could  be 
met. 

Two  propositions  were  made  by  Edith  : one  was, 
that  they  should  make  a reduction  in  their  expenses, 
by  moving  into  a smaller  house.  They  now  paid 
two  hundred  dollars  annually  for  rent ; and  she  was 
sure  that,  for  one  hundred  and  fifty,  they  might  suit 
themselves  very  well.  The  other  proposition  was, 
to  give  two  or  three  hours  every  evening,  after  the 
children  were  in  bed,  to  fine  needle-work,  in  which 
she  was  well  skilled. 

44 1 could  easily  earn  two  dollars  a week,  in  this 
way,”  was  her  confident  remark.-  .1 

Claire,  who  had  other  plans  in  his  mind,  did  not 
speak  very  encouragingly  of  thorn  propositions, 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


143 


though  he  avoided  disapproval.  Increased  expense 
demanded  an  increase  of  income ; and  his  thoughts 
were  all  now  bent  suggestively  in  that  direction. 
As  for  Edith,  her  burdens  were  heavy  enough ; and 
her  husband,  though  he  did  not  check  her  generous 
enthusiasm,  by  no  means  acquiesced  in  the  plan  of 
evening  toil  for  his  wife  out  of  the  range  of  her 
many  domestic  duties. 

A few  days  went  by,  with  no  incident  of  import- 
ance. Claire,  during  the  time,  appeared,  to  his 
wife  more  thoughtful  that  usual.  One  evening  he 
came  home  with  a brighter  countenance. 

“ Good  news,  Edie,”  said  he  in  a cheerful  voice, 
as  soon  as  the  children’s  glad  and  noisy  welcome  of 
their  father  was  over ; and  he  drew  his  wife  aside 
as  he  spoke. 

“ Good  news,  dear,”  he  repeated.  “ I was  sure 
the  way  would  open  for  us,  and  it  has  opened.” 

“How,  Edward?”  asked  Edith,  with  a quickly 
flushing  face.  “ How  has  it  opened  ?” 

“ I’ve  secured  employment  for  my  evenings,  at 
six  dollars  a week.  So  all  will  go  on  with  us  the 
same  as  usual.  The  only  drawback  lies  in  the  fact 
that  you  will  have  to  remain  at  home  alone.  But, 
for  the  sake  of  the  end,  you  will  bear  that  cheer- 
folly.”  _ 

The  light  which  had  come  into  Edith’s  counte- 
nance faded. 

“ What  kind  of  employment  ?”  she  inquired,  with 
a slight  huskiness  of  voice. 

“ I’ve  engaged  to  act  as  clerk  in  an  auction  storej 
yrhere  they  have  regular  night-sales.” 

Edith  shook  her  head. 


I 


144 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


“I  thought  you  would  be  so  delighted,”  said  hei 
husband,  evidently  much  disappointed. 

“ You  often  come  home,  now,  overwearied  with  the 
day’s  labour,  ” replied  Edith. 

“An  hour  at  tea-time  will  refresh  me  for  the 
evening’s  work.  Don’t  think  of  that  a moment, 
Edith.” 

“How  can  I help  thinking  of  it  ? No,  no,  Ed- 
ward, you  must  not  do  this.  It  will  destroy  your 
health.  You  are  not  very  strong.” 

“ My  health  is  perfectly  good,  Edith.” 

But  Edith  shook  her  head — 

“ Not  so  very  good.  You  look  paler,  and  are 
much  thinner  than  yoi^  were  a year  ago.  A little 
over-exertion  throws  your  system  off  of  its  balance ; 
and  then  you  are  sick.” 

“ I will  be  very  careful  of  myself,”  replied 
Claire.  “If,  after  a few  weeks,  the  extra  labour  is 
found  to  be  too  severe,  I can  give  up  the  place. 
Nothing  like  trying,  you  know,  dear.” 

Still,  Edith  was  not  satisfied.  Very  strongly  she 
urged  her  husband  not  to  increase  his  labour  in  the 
degree  contemplated. 

“ Let  us  try  if  we  can  reduce  our  expenses  by  a 
closer  economy.  It  is  better  to  deny  ourselves  things 
not  necessary  to  health,  than  to  injure  health  by 
extra  labour.” 

She  urged  this  view,  however,  in  vain.  Claire 
could  not,  without  at  least  a trial  of  his  strength, 
decline  the  important  offer  which  had  been  made  to 
him.  And  so,  after  a consultation  with  Mr.  Melle- 
ville,  he  entered  upon  his  new  employment,  leaving 
his  wife  to  spend  the  hours  of  his  absence  alone. 


WEALTH  WITKOLT  WINGS. 


145 


Hot  idly  were  those  hours  spent.  What  she  had  at 
first  proposed  to  do,  she  now  began  to  execute.  With- 
out saying  any  thing  to  her  husband,  she  had  pro- 
cured, from  a friend  who  kept  a fancy-store,  anl 
who  took  in  from  the  ladies  a great  deal  of  work, 
Borne  fine  sewing ; and  with  this  she  was  busily  oc- 
cupied until  his  return,  which  did  not  take  place  on 
the  first  night  until  near  eleven  o’clock. 

There  was  a slight  drawback  in  the  pleasure  both 
felt  in  meeting  at  this  late  hour— the  drawback  of 
weariness.  Yet  their  hearts  were  tranquil  and  ele- 
vated in  the  consciousness  that  they  were  denying 
self  for  the  good  of  another— and  that  one  most  ten- 
derly beloved.  Again  the  way  had  become  plain 
before  them ; and  if  strength  only  were  given  to 
bear  their  increased  burdens,  they  would  move  on 
with  even  lighter  footsteps  than  before. 

And  now,  after  having  lingered  thus  long  with 
the  humble  clerk,  let  us  turn  to  the  rich  merchant ; 
for  Jasper  has  become  a man  of  extensive  posses- 
sions. Wealth  flowed  in  upon  him  with  extraordi- 
nary rapidity— not  in  the  regular  course  of  trade, 
overreaching  and  unscrupulous  as  he  was  in  dealing, 
but  through  what  are  called  fortunate  speculations. 
How  he  made  his  first  hundred  thousand  dollars — 
the  basis  of  his  present  very  large  fortune — was  not 
dearly  understood,  though  sundry  vague  rumours 
on  the  subject  were  afloat,  none  of  them,  however, 
very  near  the  truth,  except  in  the  admission  that  a 
fraud  on  somebody  had  been  committed.  But  lefc 
us  introduce  Mr.  Jasper. 

On  the  night  that  Claire  entered  upon  his  duties 

as  clerk  in  the  auction  store,  and  about  the  same 

13 


146 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


hour  that  his  duties  began,  Mr.  Jasper,  who  was 
walking  restlessly  the  floor  of  his  richly  furnished 
parlours,  his  mind  busy  with  some  large  money-mak- 
ing scheme,  yet  fretted  by  a recent  disappointment, 

; found  himself  suddenly  in  the  presence  of,  to  him, 
a well-known  individual,  whose  ring  at  the  door  he 
had  not  observed. 

“Martin  !”  he  exclaimed,  in  no  affected  surprise. , 
“ Is  it  possible  ?” 

“Ah,  Jasper!  How  are  you?  Right  glad  to 
get  sight  of  your  face  again !”  said  the  other  fami- 
liarly, as  he  grasped  the  merchant’s  passive  hand, 
and  squeezed  it  until  the  joints  cracked. 

“When  did  you  arrive  in  the  city?”  returned 
Jasper,  as  he  reached  his  visitor  a chair.  He  did 
not  speak  with  much  warmth ; and  yet  there  was 
an  effort  to  be  at  ease  and  cordial. 

“ Some  two  hours  ago,”  said  Martin,  in  whose 
face  was  already  beginning  to  gather  a few  lines 
in  token  of  the  sober  thoughts  that  lay  beneath  his 
assumed  smiling  exterior. 

“ From  which  direction  did  you  come  ?” 

“West.  I’m  from  the  Upper  Mississippi.” 
“Ah!” 

“I  went  to  Galena  some  five  or  six  months  ago; 
and  have  since  been  actively  engaged  in  lead-mining. 
A great  business  that,  Mr.  Jasper.” 

“Ah?”  This  “ah?”  was  particularly  chilling. 

“There  are  more  rapid  fortunes  made  at  the  lead- 
mines  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Galena,  at  present, 
than  in  any  part  of  the  United  States,”  said  Martin, 
approaching,  by  rapid  advances,  the  subject  nearest 
to  his  thoughts. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


147 


« 


“ You  think  so?”  returned  Jasper,  with  cold  in- 
credulity. 

“I  know  so,”  was  the  positive  response.  “I 
©:uld  point  you  to  a dozen  men  who  have  made 
their  tens  of  thousands  annually  for  the  last  five 
or  ten  years.” 

“ It  is  easy  to  talk  about  making  tens  of  thou- 
sands, Martin ; but  the  fact  itself  is  a more  difficult 
matter.” 

“ A fact  is  a fact,  however,  Mr.  Jasper,”  said  the 
other.  “ What  is  done,  is  done.” 

“ Of  course.” 

“It  is  a fact  that  money  is  made  at  the  lead- 
mines,  hand  over  fist,”  continued  Martin.  “Of  this 
I am  prepared  to  give  you  the  strongest  kind  of 
evidence.” 

“ Why  should  you  be  so  anxious  to  convince  me 
of  this  fact  ?”  returned  the  merchant.  “ I have 
quite  as  many  irons  in  the  fire  now  as  I can  see 


to. 


ff 


“Ah!  That  may  be,”  said  Martin,  forcing  to 
his  rather  hard  features  a bland  smile.  “ But  these 
new  irons  I will  keep  from  burning.” 

“ It’s  no  use,  Martin,  to  talk  of  lead-mines  to 
me,”  said  Jasper  firmly.  “ I am  spread  out  enough 
already.  Contraction,  not  expansion,  is  my  present 
motto.  I’ve  met  with  more  than  one  heavy  loss 
since  I saw  you.” 

“ Have  you,  indeed  ? I’m  sorry  for  that.  But  a 
false  card  will  turn  up  now  and  then,  you  know. 
The  game  in  the  long  run  is  sure.” 

“We’re  sure  of  nothing,”  replied  Jasper,  with 
considerable  feeling. 


148 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


44  I wouldn’t  like  to  say  that.  Of  course,  all  plans 
will  not  succeed ; for  man's  judgment  is  far  from 
possessing  the  virtue  of  infallibility.  But  human 
reason  would  be  a poor  endowment,  did  it  not  lead 
tis,  in  most  cases,  to  right  conclusions,  if  we  are 
careful  in  our  modes  of  using  this  high  faculty.” 

64  The  purpose  of  your  visit  to  the  East,”  said  Jas- 
per, who  understood  perfectly  the  man  with  whom 
he  was  dealing,  and,  therefore,  determined  to  know 
at  once  the  length  and  breadth  of  what  he  was  ex- 
pected to  do,  44  is,  I presume,  to  enlist  some  capital- 
ists here  in  a lead-mining  speculation?” 

44  My  ideas  do  not  extend  quite  that  far,”  was 
Martin’s  answer.  44  Too  many  cooks,  you  are  aware, 
sometimes  spoil  the  broth.  To  come  to  the  point 
at  once,  let  me  explain  the  purpose  of  my  present 
journey  to  the  East.” 

44  Well ; I am  all  attention.” 

44  My  fur-trade  business,  as  I wrote  you  a year 
ago,  turned  out  disastrously.” 

44  Yes.” 

44  After  that,  I opened  a small  store  in  one  of  the 
frontier  towns,  and  I did  very  w^ell,  all  things  con- 
sidered. But  the  gain  was  too  slow  to  suit  my 
ideas  of  things ; so,  meeting  with  a fair  chance,  I 
sold  out,  and  bought  a lead-mine,  which  I have  been 
working  ever  since  to  good  profit.  Recently,  I 
struck  upon  one  of  the  richest  veins  ever  discovered. 
If  properly  worked,  it  wfill  yield  a rapid  fortune. 
But  I have  not  sufficient  capital  to  avail  myself  of  . 
the  advantages  offered,  and  have  come  on  here  to 
lay. the  matter  before  you,  and  to  offer  you  a share 
in  the  business.” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


149 


Jasper  shook  his  head,  saying — 

44  I have  more  business  on  my  hands  now,  Martin, 
than  I can  possibly  attend  to.” 

64  You  don’t  know  what  you  are  declining,  Mr. 
Jasper,”  urged  Martin  warmly.  44  You  havn’t  yet 
looked  at  the  statements  which  I am  prepared  to  lay 
before  you.’* 

44 1 do  know  one  thing,”  was  the  feeling  answer, 
44  and  that  is,  that  I am  declining  trouble  and  cost. 
About  that  part  of  the  business,  there  can  be  little 
question.” 

44  Then,”  said  Martin,  his  manner  changing,  44 1 
am  to  understand  that  you  do  not  wish  to  join  me 
in  this  matter  ?” 

44  Yes.  I would  like  you  to  understand  that  dis- 
tinctly.” 

44  Very  well.  I am  sorry  you  refuse  so  advan- 
tageous an  investment  of  money ; for  right  sure  am 
I that  no  other  investment  you  can  make  will  turn 
out  as  this  would  have  done.  But,  as  you  have  de- 
clined, I will  not  offer  a share  in  my  good  fortune 
to  any  one  else ; but  prosecute  the  work  to  my  own 
advantage.” 

44 1 thought  you  hadn’t  the  capital  to  do  that,” 
said  Jasper,  speaking  with  ill-repressed  eagerness. 

44  Nor  have  I,”  coolly  answered  Martin.  44  The 
proposition  I was  about  to  make  was  this — an  ad- 
vance of  twenty  thousand  dollars  capital  on  your 
part,  to  constitute  you  an  equal  partner  in  the  mine. 
But  this  you  decline.” 

44  Certainly  ! certainly  ! I would  not  have  enter- 
tained it  for  a moment.” 

44  Exactly.  So  I have  already  inferred.  I will, 

13* 


150 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


' therefore,  as  just  said,  retain  this  advantage  in  my 
own  hands.  But,  Mr.  J asper,  I shall  need  some  help.” 
.The  visitor  fixed  his  eyes  keenly  on  the  merchant 
as  he  said  this.  There  was  a momentary  pause. 
Then  he  resumed. 

“ I shall  only  want  about  ten  thousand  dollars, 
though ; and  this  you  must  obtain  for  me.” 

“ Martin  ! Do  you  think  I am  made  of  money?” 
exclaimed  Jasper,  starting  to  his  feet,  and  facing 
his  companion,  in  the  attitude  and  with  the  expres- 
sion of  a man  who,  finding  himself  in  the  presence 
of  an  enemy,  assumes  the  defensive. 

“ Oh  no,”  was  the  quiet  answer — “not  made  of 
money.  But,  for  a particular  friend,  you  can  no  doubt, 
easily  raise  such  a trifle  as  ten  thousand  dollars?” 

“ Trifle  ! You  mock  me,  sir  !” 

“ Don’t  get  excited  about  this  matter,  Mr.  Jasper,” 
coolly  returned  Martin,  whose  name  the  reader  has 
probably  recognised  as  that  of  an  agent  employed  by 
the  merchant  and  Grind,  the  lawyer,  some  years 
before,  in  making  investigations  relative  to  the  ex- 
istence of  coal  on  certain  lands  not  far  from  Read- 
ing, Pennsylvania.  “ Don’t  get  excited,”  he  repeat- 
ed. “ That  will  do  no  good.  I have  not  come  to 
rob  you.  I don’t  ask  you  to  give  me  ten  thousand 
dollars.  All  I want  is  a loan,  for  which  I will 
pledge  good  security.” 

“What  kind  of  security?”  asked  Jasper  quickly. 
“ Security  on  my  lead-mine.” 

“ Pooh  ! I wouldn’t  give  the  snap  of  a finger  for 
such  security!” 

Jasper,  thrown*  off  his  guard,  spoke  more  con- 
temptuously than  was  prudent. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


151 


An  instant  change  was  visible  in  Martin,  who, 
rising,  commenced  buttoning  up  his  coat.  There 
was  about  him  every  mark  of  a man  deeply  offended. 

66  Good  evening,  sir  !”  said  he,  with  a low,  formal 
bow,  yet  with  his  eyes  fixed  searchingly  in  those  of 
the  merchant. 

“ Martin,” — J asper  did  not  smile,  nor  was  there  in 
his  voice  the  slightest  affectation  of  good  feeling — 
yet  his  manner  and  tone  were  both  decisive, — “ Mar- 
tin, sit  down  again.  Talk  in  reason,  and  I will  hear.” 

The  man  resumed  his  seat,  and,  with  his  eyes  still 
in  those  of  Jasper,  said — 

“ I have  talked  in  reason,,  You  are  worth,  so  re- 
port says,  not  less  than  three  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars. How  the  first  hundred  thousand  came,  is 
known,  certainly,  only  to  one  man  beside  you  and 
me.  In  procuring  that  large  sum  I was  a very  pro- 
minent agent.” 

“ You  have  already  been  paid  for  your  services  a 
dozen  times  over.” 

66  There  may  be  a difference  of  opinion  about  this,” 
replied  the  man  boldly — “ and  there  is  a difference 
of  opinion.” 

“ I have  already  advanced  you  over  five,  thousand 
dollars.” 

“ What  of  that ! Five  thousand  to  three  hundred 
thousand  that  you  have  made  by  the  operation.” 

“ You  are  in  error,  Martin,”  said  Jasper,  with  a 
blended  look  of  perplexity  and*  distress.  u I am  not 
worth  the  sum  you  have  mentioned — nothing  like  it. 
My  losses  during  the  past  six  months  have  been  very 
heavy.” 


152 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


“ It  is  your  interest  to  say  this.  I can  credit  as 
much  of  it  as  I please.” 

“ You  are  insulting ! You  presume  on  the  powef 
a knowledge  of  my  affairs  has  given  you.  I will  look 
£or  a more  honourable  agent  the  next  time.” 

“ Honourable ! Ha  I ha !”  The  visitor  laughed  m 
a low,  guttural  voice. 

“ Martin!  I will  not  hear  this  from  any  living 
man.” 

The  face  of  Jasper  was  almost  purple  with  sup- 
pressed anger. 

66  Go!”  he  added.  “ Leave  my  house  instantly. 
I defy  you !” 

Scarcely  had  these  words  passed  his  lips,  ere  Martin 
glided  from  the  drawing-room,  and  in  a few  moments 
the  street-door  shut  with  a heavy,  reverberating  jar. 

The  merchant  stood,  like  one  bewildered,  for  a few 
moments,  and  then,  as  he  sank  into  a chair,  uttered 
a low  groan.  For  a long  time  he  remained  as  mo- 
tionless as  if  sleeping. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

On  leaving  the  house  of  Jasper,  Martin — who, 
instead  of  having  been  in  the  city  only  a few  hours, 
arrived  two  days  previously — took  his  way  to  the 
office  of  Grind,  the  lawyer.  He  had  seen  this  indi- 
vidual already  several  times,  and  now  called  on 
him  again  by  appointment.  The  two  men,  on  meet* 
mg,  exchanged  looks  of  intelligence. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


353 


44  Did  you  see  him  ?”  asked  the  lawyer,  as  Martin 
took  a proffered  chair. 

44  I saw  him,”  was  replied. 

44  Can  you  make  any  thing  out  of  him  V 
44  I think  so.  He  fights  a little  hard ; but  the 
odds  are  against  him.” 

44  How  much  did  you  ask  him  to  loan  you  ?” 

46  Ten  thousand  ?” 

44  Martin ! That’s  cutting  a little  too  sharp.” 
“Not  a bit.  He’ll  never  miss  such  a trifle.” 

44  You  can’t  bleed  him  that  deep,”  said  the  lawyer. 
44  Can’t  I?  You’ll  see;  I could  get  twenty  thou- 
sand. But  I’m  disposed  to  be  generous.  Ten 
thousand  I must  and  will  have.”* 

And  the  man  laughed  in  a low,  self-satisfied,  si- 
nister chuckle. 

44  He’s  able  enough,”  remarked  Grind. 

44  So  you  have  told  me.  And  if  he  is  able,  he 
must  pay.  I helped  him  to  a fortune,  and  it  is  but 
fair  that  he  should  help  me  a little,  now  that  a for- 
tune is  in  my  grasp.  I only  want  the  money  as  a 
loan.” 

44  Wouldn’t  five  thousand  answer  your  purpose  ?” 
asked  the  lawyer.  44  That  is  a large  sum.  It  is  not 
a very  easy  matter  for  even  a rich  man,  who  is  en- 
gaged heavily  in  business,  to  lay  down  ten  thousand 
dollars  at  call.” 

44  Five  thousand  will  not  do,  Mr.  Grind.” 

44  Jasper  has  lost,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  twenty 
thousand  dollars  in  three  months.” 

44  So  much  ?” 

44  At  least  that  sum.  Money  came  in  so  fast,  that 
he  grew  a little  wild  in  his  speculations,  and  played 


154 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


his  cards  with  the  dashing  boldness  of  a gambler 
while  in  a run  of  luck.  I cautioned  him,  but  to  no 
good  purpose.  One  of  his  latest  movements  had 
been  to  put  fifty  or  sixty  thousand  dollars  in  a cotton 
factory  ?” 

“ Poh  ! What  folly.” 

“ A most  egregious  blunder.  But  he  fancies  him- 
self an  exceedingly  shrewd  man.” 

“ He  has  been  remarkably  fortunate  in  his  opera- 
tions.” 

“ So  he  has.  But  he  is  more  indebted,  I think, 
to  good  luck  than  to  a sound  judgment.  He  has 
gone  up  to  dizzy  height  so  rapidly,  that  his  weak 
head  is  already  beginning  to  swim.” 

“ What  has  become  of  that  pretty  little  ward  of 
his?”  asked  Martin,  somewhat  abruptly. 

“ Why  didn’t  you  put  that  question  to  him?”  re- 
plied Grind.  “ You  would  have  been  more  likely 
to  get  a satisfactory  answer.” 

“ I may  do  so  after  I have  the  ten  thousand  dollars 
in  my  pocket.  That  was  rather  a shameful  business, 
though ; wasn’t  it  ? I never  had  a very  tender  con- 
science, but  I must  own  to  having  suffered  a few 
twinges  for  my  part  in  the  transaction.  He  received 
over  a hundred  thousand  dollars  for  the  land?” 

“ Yes  ; and  that  clear  of  some  heavy  fees  that  you 
and  I claimed  for  services  rendered.” 

“ Humph  ! I’m  not  quite  paid  yet.  But,  touch- 
ing the  child,  Mr.  Grind : don’t  you  know  any  thing 
about  her?” 

“ Nothing,  personally.” 

u What  was  it  Jasper  paid  for  the  tract  of  land  V 
“ One  thousand  dollars.’ 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


155 


“ Paid  it  into  his  own  hands  as  the  child's  guar- 
dian.” 

“ Yes;  that  was  the  simple  transaction.” 

“Has  the  public  never  made  a guess  at  the  rial 
truth  of  this  matter?” 

“Never,  so  far  as  my  knowledge  goes.  There 
have  been  some  vague  whisperings — but  no  one  has 
seemed  to  comprehend  the  matter.” 

“The  purchase  was  made  in  your  name,  was  it 
not?” 

“Yes.” 

“ That  is,  you  bought  from  Jasper  as  the  child’s 
guardian ; and  afterward  sold  it  back  to  him.” 

“Yes.” 

“Why  didn’t  you  hold  on  to  it  when  it  was  fairly 
in  your  hands  ? I only  wish  I had  been  in  your 
place?” 

The  lawyer  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  did  not 
commit  himself  by  acknowledging  that  he  had,  more 
than  once,  regretted  his  omission  to  claim  the  pro- 
perty while  legally  in  his  hands,  and  defy  Jasper  to 
wrest  it  from  him. 

Leaving  these  two  men,  whose  relation  to  Jasper 
is  sufficiently  apparent  to  the  reader’s  mind,  we  will 
return  to  the  merchant,  whom  we  left  half-stupefied 
at  the  bold  demand  of  ah  associate  in  wrong-doing. 
A long  time  passed  ere  his  activity  of  mind  returned. 
While  he  sat,  brooding — dreamily — over  what  had 
just  passed,  a little-  daughter  came  into  the  parlour, 
and  seeing  him,  came  prattling  merrily  to  his  side. 
But  in  attempting  to  clamber  upon  his  knee,  she  was 
pushed  away  rudely,  and  with  angry  words.  For  a 
few  moments  she  stood  looking  at  him,  her  little 


156 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


breast  rising  and  falling  rapidly ; then  she  turned 
off,  and  went  slowly,  and  with  a grieving  heart,  from 
the  room. 

Jasper  sighed  heavily  as  the  child  passed  out  of 
sight;  and  rising  up,  began  moving  about  with  a 
slow  pace,  his  eyes  cast  upon  the  floor.  The  more 
he  dwelt  upon  the  visit  of  Martin — whom,  in  his 
heart,  he  had  wished  dead — the  more  uneasy  he  felt, 
and  the  more  he  regretted  having  let  him  depart  in 
anger.  He  would  give  twice  ten  thousand  dollars 
rather  than  meet  the  exposure  which  this  man  could 
make. 

Riches  was  the  god  of  Leonard  Jasper.  Alas  ! 
how  little  power  was  there  in  riches  to  make  his 
heart  happy.  Wealth  beyond  what  he  had  hoped 
to  obtain  in  a wdiole  lifetime  of  devotion  to  mam- 
mon, had  flowed  in  upon  him  in  two  or  three  short 
years.  But,  was  he  a happier  man  ? Did  he  enjoy 
life  with  a keener  zest?  Was  his  sleep  sweeter? 
Ah,  no  ! In  all  that  went  to  make  up  the  true 
pleasure  of  life,  the  humble  clerk,  driven  to  pro- 
longed hours  of  labour,  beyond  what  his  strength 
could  Well  bear,  through  his  ill-nature  and  injustice, 
Was  far  the  richer  man.  And  his  wealth  consisted 
not  alone  in  the  possession  of  a clear  conscience 
and  a sustaining  trust  in  Providence.  There  was 
the  love  of  many  hearts  to  bless  him.  In  real  house- 
hold treasures  few  were  as  rich  as  he. 

But,  in  home  treasures,  how  poor  was  Leonard 
Jasper  ! Poor  to  the  extreme  of  indigence  ! The  love 
of  his  children,  reaching  toward  him  spontaneously 
its  tendrils,  he  rejected  in  the  selfish  devotion  of  every 
thought  and  fueling  to  business  as  a means  of  ac- 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


157 


qoirmg  wealth  And  as  to  the  true  riches,  which 
many  around  him  were  laying  up  where  no  moth 
could  corrupt  nor  thieves  break  through  and  steal, 
he  rejected  them  as  of  no  account. 

With  such  a man  as  Leonard  Jasper,  holding  the 
position  of  head  of  a family,  how  little  of  the  true 
home  spirit,  so  full  of  tenderness  and  mutual  love 
is  to  be  expected  ! Had  Mrs.  Jasper  been  less  a 
woman  of  the  world ; had  she  been  capable  of  lov- 
ing any  thing  out  of  herself,  and,  therefore,  of  lov- 
ing her  husband  and  children,  with  that  true  love 
which  seeks  their  higher  good,  a different  state  of 
things  would  have  existed  in  this  family,  spite  of 
Jasper  s unfeeling  sordidness.  But,  as  it  was,  no 

W+lf  °i!-tfetet  H16  natural  perverseness  inherited 
by  the  children,  and  they  grew  up,  cherishing  mu- 
tual antagonism  and  gradually  coming  to  regard 
their  parents  only  as  persons  with  power  to  thwart 

mC1+ktl0n^  °r  aS  Possessing  the  means  of 
giatifymg  their  desires. 

With  all  his  wealth,  how  few  were  the  real  sources 
of  happmess  possessed  by  Jasper  ! Pressed  down 

vondhk1?7  I?',?6  fUtUre’  and  forced  to  be- 
hlS  strengtjb  how  many  of  life’s  truest  bless- 
ings were  poured  into  the  lap  of  Edward  Claire  ! 

and  r!/  0!,1'  °f  P00r  clerk>  that  night,  was  sound 
The  merchant  tossed  to  and  fro  on 
his  pillow  unti  long  after  the  midnight  watches  ad- 

naW  T*  ’ and  then,  when  wearied 

nature  claimed  her  due,  he  slept  only  for  brief  ne- 

uods  continually  startled  by  frightful  dreams.  P 

wbn l»n  !Sh°,Ur  TXt  da?’ he  called uP<>n  Grind, 
Who  was  still  his  legal  adviser.  9 

14 


158 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


“Have  you  seen  Martin  ?’\he  asked  the  moment 
he  entered  the  office. 

“ Martin  ! Surely  he  is  not  in  the  city  !”  returned 
Grind  evasively. 

“He  surely  is,”  said  Jasper,  fretfully. 

“ Martin.  Where  in  the  world  did  he  come  from  ? 
I thought  him  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains.  What  does  he  want?” 

“No  good,  of  course.” 

“ That  may  be  said  safely.  Have  you  seen  him  ?” 
“Yes.” 

“ When  ? This  morning  ?” 

“ No  ; he  called  at  my  house  last  night.” 

“ Called  last  night ! What  did  he  want  ?” 

“ Ten  thousand  dollars,”  replied  Jasper. 

“Ten  thousand  dollars!!”  The  lawyer’s  well- 
feigned  surprise  completed  the  deception  practised 
upon  Jasper.  He  did  not,  for  an  instant,  suspect 
collusion  between  him  and  Martin. 

“ Yes ; he  very  coolly  proposed  that  I should 
lend  him  that  sum,  to  enable  him  to  carry  on  some 
lead-mining  operations  in  the  west.” 

“ Preposterous !” 

“ So  I told  him.” 

“ Well,  what  did  he  say  ?” 

“ Oh,  he  blustered,  and  made  covert  threats  of  ex- 
posure, of  course.” 

“The  scoundrel !•”  said  Grind,  fiercely. 

“ He’s  a villain  double-dyed.  I have  neyer  ceased 
to  regret  that  we  brought  him  into  this  business. 
We  should  have  had  a man  of  better  spirit — of  a 
nicer  sense  of  honour.” 

“Yes,  Mr.  Jasper,  that  is  true  enough,”  replied 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


159 


Srrind;  “but  the  mischef  is,  your  men  of  nicer  ho- 
nour are  too  squeamish  for  the  kind  of  work  in  which 
we  employed  him.  This  is  the  defect  in  all  such 
operations.  Men  cannot  be  thoroughly  trusted.” 
The  merchant  sighed.  He  felt  too  deeply  tho 
force  of  Grind’s  remark. 

“ You  know,”  said  he,  “this  Martin  better  than  I 
do.  What  is  his  character  ? Is  he  a mere  blusterer, 
whose  bark  is  worse  than  his  bite  ; or  is  he  vindic- 
tive and  unscrupulous  ?” 

“ Both  vindictive  and  unscrupulous.  I must  warn 
you  not  to  provoke  his  ill-will.  He  would  take  de- 
light in  exposing  all  he  knows  about  this  business, 
if  he  is  once  fairly  turned  against  you.  A fast 
friend — he  is  a bitter  enemy.” 

“ But  see  what  a price  he  demands  for  his  friend- 
ship ! I have  already  given  him  some  five  thousand 
dollars  for  his  services,  and  now  he  demands  ten 
more.  In  a year  he  will  be  back,  and  coolly  seek 
to  levy  a contribution  of  twenty  thousand  dollars.” 
“ I understood  you  to  say  that  he  only  asked  for 
a loan,”  remarks  the  lawyer. 

“ A loan  ! That’s  mere  mockery.  If  you  placed 
ten  thousand  dollars  in  his  hands,  would  you  ever 
expect  to  see  the  first  copper  of  it  again  ?” 

Grind  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“ Of  course  you  would  not.  It’s  a levy,  not  a 
loan — and  so  he,  in  his  heart,  regards  it.” 

“He’s  a dangerous  man,”  said  the  lawyer,  “and 
it’s  to  be  regretted  that  you  ever  had  any  thing  to 
do  with  him.  But,  now  that  your  hand  is  in  the  lion’s 
mouth,  the  wisest  thing  is  to  get  it  out  with  as  little 
detriment  as  possible.” 


160 


true  riches;  or, 


“ Ten  thousand  dollars  !”  ejaculated  the  merchant, 
u Why,  it’s  downright  robbery  ! He  might  just  as 
well  stop  me  on  the  highway.’' 

u It’s  a hard  case,  I must  own,  Mr,  Jasper.  You 
might  resist  him,  and,  at  least  not  let  him  obtain 
what  he  demands  without  a struggle ; but  the  ques- 
tion is,  may  you  not  receive  a mortal  wound  in  the 
contest.” 

u Ah ! that  is  the  rub,  Grind.  Rather  than 
meet  the  exposure  he  could  make,  I would  give 
twenty  thousand  dollars ; yea,  half,  if  not  all  I am 
worth.” 

Can  wealth,  held  on  such  a tenure,  and  in  such 
a state  of  mind,  be  called  riches  ? Ah,  no.  How 
the  possession  is  changed  from  a blessing  into  a 
curse ! 

“ Then,  Mr.  Jasper,”  replied  the  lawyer,  66  there 
is  but  one  course  plain  before  you.  If  you  make 
this  man  your  enemy,  he  will  surely  pursue  you  to 
the  death.  There  is  no  pity  in  him.” 

Jasper  groaned  aloud.  Ere  he  could  reply,  the 
door  of  the  office  opened,  and  the  individual  about 
whom  they  were  conversing  entered.  With  the  skill 
of  practised  actors,  each  instantly  assumed  a part, 
and  hid,  under  a false  exterior,  their  true  states  of 
mind,  With  something  of  cordiality  each  greeted 
the  other ; while  side-glances,  unobserved  by  Jas- 
per, passed  rapidly  between  Martin  and  the  lawyer. 
A few  commonplace  inquiries  and  remarks  followed, 
when  Jasper  made  a movement  to  go,  saying,  as  he 
did  so — 

“ Mr.  Martin,  I will  be  pleased  to  see  you  some 
time  to-day.” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


16- 


“ Thank  you ; I will  do  myself  the  pleasure  to 
call,”  was  coolly  answered.  “At  what  time  will 
you  be  most  at  leisure  ?” 

“During  the  afternoon.  Say  at  four  or  five 
o’clock.” 

“ I will  be  there  at  four,”  returned  Martin,  in  a 
bland  voice,  and  with  a courteous  inclination  of  the 
nead. 

“Very  well— -you  will  find  me  in.” 

The  merchant  bowed  to  the  accomplices — they 
were  nothing  better — and  retired. 

“ Humph  ! I didn’t  expect  to  find  him  here  quite 
so  early,”  said  Martin,  wTith  a sinister  smile.  “ 1 
rather  guess  I frightened  him  last  night.” 

“ I rather  guess  you  did,”  returned  the  lawyer, 
his  countenance  reflecting  the  light  that  played  on 
the  other’s  face. 

.“  Will  the  money  come  ?”  asked  Martin. 

“ Undoubtedly.” 

“ That’s  good.  Ten  thousand  ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ What  did  he  say  ? He  came  to  consult  you,  of 
course  ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well,  what  did  he  say  ?” 
u More  than  I need  take  time  to  repeat.  He  is 
\jnoroughly  frightened.  That  is  enough  for  you  to 
know.” 

“ Ten  thousand,”  said  Martin  musingly,  and 
speaking  to  himself.  “ Ten  thousand  ! That  will 
do  pretty  well.  But,  if  he  will  bleed  for  fifteen 
thousand,  why  may  I not  set  the  spring  of  my 


162 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


lancet  a little  deeper.  I can  make  good  use  of  my 

money.”  . 

' “No — no,”  returned  the  lawyer  quickly.  “ Ten 
thousand  is  enough.  Don’t  play  the  dog  and  the 
shadow.  This  is  over-greediness.” 

44  Well — well.  Just  as  you  say.  I can  make 
him  another  friendly  call  in  a year  or  so  from  this 

time.”  _ . 

The  lawyer  smiled  in  a way  peculiar  to  himself, 

and  then  said — 

“ Hadn’t  you  better  be  content  with  five  thousand 
now.  This  goose  will,  no  doubt,  lay  golden  eggs 
for  some  years  to  come.”  _ >f 

“ A bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  hush,’ 
was  the  quick  answer.  “ I have  gone  in  now  for 
the  ten  thousand ; and  ten  thousand  I must  have. 
I may  be  content  with  a smaller  sum  at  my  next 

appearance.”  _ ^ 

“ You  are  to  see  him  at  four  o clock  . said 

Grind. 

“Yes;  that  was  the  hour  I named,  bo  you 
must  get  all  the  necessary  papers  ready  for.  me  in 
time.  I don’t  want  to  let  him  get  the  hitch  on 
me  of  seeking  tc  extort  money.  I only  ask  a 
loan,  and  will  give  bona-fide  security  on  my  lead- 
mine,”  Then,  with  one  of  his  low  chuckles,  he 
added—44  If  he  can  get  ten  thousand  dollars  out 
of  it,  he  will  do  more  than  any  one  else  can.  Ha . 

ha  1 ha !”  , „ 

“ The  evidence  of  property,  which  you , have, 
gaid  Grind,  “ is  all  as  it  shows  on  the  face  ‘i 
“It  is,  upon  honour.” 

“Yery  well.  Then  I will  draw  the  necessary 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


163 


papers,  so  that  as  little  delay  as  possible  need  occur 
in  the  transference  of  security  for  the  loan.” 

What  further  passed  between  the  parties  is  of  no 
consequence  to  the  reader. 

At  four  o’clock,  precisely,  Martin  was  at  tho 
store  of  Jasper. 

“ I hope  to  find  you  a little  more  reasonable  to- 
day,” said  the  merchant,  with  a forced  smile,  as  the 
two  men,  after  retiring  to  a remote  part  of  th* 
store,  sat  down  and  faced  each  other. 

“ I should  be  sorry  to  do  any  thing  out  of  rea 
son,”  returned  Martin.  His  manner  was  more  se- 
rious than  Jasper’s. 

“ I think  your  present  demand  out  of  reason,” 
was  answered. 

“ No  good  can  possibly  come,  Mr.  Jasper,”  said 
Martin,  with  a slight  air  of  impatience,  “ out  of  an 
argument  between  you  and  I,  on  this  subject. 
The  sum  I named  to  you  last  night  I must  have. 
Nothing  less  will  meet  nry  present  want.  But, 
understand  me  distinctly,  I only  ask  it  as  a loan, 
and  come  prepared  to  give  you  the  fullest  security.” 

As  Mr.  Martin  said  this,  he  drew  a package  of 
papers  from  his  pocket.  “ Here  are  the  necessary 
documents,”  he  added. 

“ Ten  thousand  dollars  ! Why,  my  dear  sir,  a 
Bum  like  this  is  not  to  be  picked  up  in  the  streets.” 

“I  am  very  well  aware  of  that,”  wTas  the  cool 
answer.  “ Had  such  been  the  case,  I never  would 
have  troubled  you  with  procuring  the  sum ; nor 
would  I have  gone  to  the  expense  and  fatigue  of  a 
long  journey.” 

“ You  certainly  ought  to  know  enough  of  busi- 


164 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


ness,  Martin,  to  be  aware  that  ten  thousand  dollars 
is  not  always  to  be  commanded,  even  by  the 
wealthiest,  at  a moment’s  notice.” 

“ I do  not  ask  the  whole  sum  in  cash,”  replied 
Martin.  • “ Three  or  four  thousand  in  ready  money 
will  do.  Your  notes  at  four  and  six  months  will 
answer  very  well  for  the  balance.” 

But  we  will  not  record  further  what  passed  be- 
tween these  two  men.  It  was  all  in  vain  that  Jas- 
per strove  to  escape ; his  adversary  was  too  power- 
ful. Ere  they  separated,  Martin  had  in  his  pos- 
session, in  cash  and  promissory  notes,  the  sum  of 
ten  thousand  dollars ! 

Already  were  the  ill-gotten  riches  of  Leonard 
Jasper  taking  to  themselves  wings.  Unhappy  man ! 
How  wretched  was  he  during  that  and  many  suc- 
ceeding days  ! Rolling,  so  to  speak,  in  wealth,  he 
yet  possessed  not  life’s  highest  blessing,  a truly 
contented  mind,  flowing  from  conscious  rectitude 
and  an  abiding  trust  in  Providence.  Without  these, 
how  poor  is  even  he  who  counts  his  millions  ! With 
them,  how  rich  is  the  humble  toiler,  who,  receiving 
day  by  day  his  daily  bread,  looks  up  and  is  thankful ! 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


165 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

* A FEW  weeks  subsequent  to  the  occurrences 
mentioned  in  the  last  chapter,  Leonard  Jasper 
received  a call  from  Mr.  Melleville,  in  whose  ser- 
vice Claire  still  remained.  The  greeting  of  the  two 
men  was  distant,  yet  courteous.  A few  words  on 
current  topics  passed  between  them,  after  which  Mr. 
Melleville  said — 

“ I have  called  to  ask  you  a question  or  two  in 
regard  to  a child  of  the  late  Mr.  Elder,  to  whom 
you  are  guardian.’' 

The  blood  came  instantly  to  the  face  of  Jasper, 
who  was  not  prepared  for  this  ; and  in  spite  of  his 
struggle  to  seem  self-possessed,  his  eyes  sank  under 
those  of  his  visitor.  In  a few  moments,  he  recovered 
himself,  and  replied — 

“ The  child,  you  mean,  who  is  boarding  with  Ed- 
ward Claire  ?” 

“ The  same.”  The  eyes  of  Melleville  were 
fixed  on  those  of  Jasper  so  steadily,  that  the  latter 
wavered,  and,  finally,  again  dropped  to  the  floor. 

“ Well,  I am  ready  to  hear  anything  that  you 
have  to  say.”  Jasper  had  thrown  off,  once  more, 
the  vague  sense  of  coming  evil  that  made  him  cower 
under  the  steady  gaze  of  Melleville. 

“I  learn,”  said  the  latter,  “from  Mr.  Claire,  that 
you  refuse  to  pay  any  further  sums  for  her  main- 
tenance. Is  the  property  left  by  her  father,  to 


166 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


which  common  report  has  affixed  considerable  value, 
exhausted,  or” 

“ I have  refused  to  pay  Mm  any  further  sums,” 
said  Jasper,  in  a quick,  excited  voice,  interrupting 
Mr.  Melleville.  “ Our  contract,  regularly  entered 
into,  has  expired  by  limitation.  He  was  to  have 
the  care  of  her  only  until  she  reached  her  twelfth 
year.  Of  this  fact  he  is  clearly  advised,  and  I 
wonder  at  his  pertinacity  in  endeavouring  to  retain 
the  child,  when  he  knows  that  I,  her  guardian,  wish 
to  have  her  in  my  own  possession.” 

u He  has  had  her  ever  since  she  was  a little 
child ; and  both  he  and  his  wife  are  now  strongly 
attached  to  her.  In  fact,  she  regards  them  as 
her  parents  ; and  their  affection  for  her  is  not  ex- 
ceeded by  their  affection  for  their  own  children. 
To  separate  them  would  be  exceedingly  painful  to 
all  parties.  As  for  the  child,  it  would  make  her 
very  unhappy.” 

“I  can’t  help  that,  Mr.  Melleville.”  Jasper  spoke 
coldly. 

“ Under  all  the  circumstances,”  said  Mr.  Melle- 
ville, after  a pause,  speaking  slowly,  and  with  con- 
siderable emphasis  in  his  words,  “it  is  my  opi- 
nion that  you  had  better  let  the  child  remain  where 
she  is.” 

“ Why  do  you  say  so  ?”  Jasper  spoke  with  ill- 
concealed  surprise ; and  the  uneasy,  suspicious  man- 
ner, at  first  exhibited,  returned. 

“ Claire  regards  the  child  as  his  own  ; and  must^ 
do  continue  to  regard  her,  even  though  taken  on*  of 
his  hands.” 

“ Well,  what  of  that  ?” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


167 


“ It  is  for  you,  Mr.  Jasper,”  was  returned,  “ to 
determine  for  yourself,  whether  the  surveillance  of 
a man  like  Claire,  who  cannot  now  cease  to  feel  & » 
parent’s  interest  in  your  ward,  will  be  altogether 
agreeable.” 

“ Surveillance  ! What  do  you  mean  ? I don’t 
understand  this  language.  It  looks  like  an  effort 
to  force  me  into  measures.  Pray,  what  have  I to 
fear  from  Edward  Claire?” 

“ Sometimes,”  replied  Melleville,  with  a slow, 
meaning  enunciation,  “ those  we  regard  as  most 
insignificant  are  the  very  ones  we  should  most 
fear.” 

“ Fear  ! Fear,  Mr.  Melleville  ! You  make  use 
of  strange  language.” 

“ Perhaps  I do,”  was  answered.  “And,  as  it 
seems  unpleasant  to  you,  I will  say  no  more.  I did 
not  mean,  when  I called,  to  speak  just  as  I have 
done.  But,  as  the  words  have  been  uttered,  I beg 
you  to  weigh  them  well,  and  to  believe  that  they 
have  a meaning.  Good  morning.” 

Jasper  suppressed  the  utterance  of  the  word 
“ stay,”  which  arose  to  his  lips,  and  returned  the 
bow  of  Mr.  Melleville,  who  left  without  further 
remark. 

“ What  can  this  mean  ?”  Thus  mused  Leonard 
Jasper,  when  alone.  “ Can  this  scoundrel,  Martin, 
have  dropped  a hint  of  the  truth  ?”  A slight  shiver 
went  through  his  nerves.  “ Something  is  wrong. 

4 There  is  suspicion  in  the  thought  of  Melleville.  I 
didn’t  look  for  trouble  in  this  quarter.” 

To  his  own  unpleasant  reflections  we  will  leave 


168 


TRUE  RICHES  ; OR, 


the  merchant,  and  return  to  Edward  Claire  and  his 
true-minded,  loving-hearted  wife. 

For  a week  or  two  after  the  former  entered  upon 
; his  new  duties  as  assistant  clerk  in  a night-auction, 
he  experienced  no  serious  inconvenience  from  his 
more  prolonged  labours,  although  it  did  not  escape 
the  watchful  eyes  of  his  wife  that  his  complexion 
was  losing  its  freshness,  and  that  his  appetite  was 
far  from  being  so  good  as  before.  After  this,  he 
began  to  suffer  oppressive  weariness,  that  made  the 
evening’s  toil  a daily  increasing  burden.  Then 
succeeded  a feverish  state,  accompanied  by  pains  in 
the  head,  back,  and  through  the  breast.  Edith 
remonstrated,  even  with  tears ; but  still  Claire 
went  nightly  to  his  task,  though  each  successive 
evening  found  him  with  less  and  less  ability  for  its 
performance. 

At  last,  he  came  home  from  the  store  of  Mr. 
Melleville,  at  the  usual  tea-time,  feeling  so  unwell 
that  he  was  forced  to  lie  down.  He  had  no  appe- 
tite for  supper,  and  merely  sipped  part  of  a cup  of  • 
tea  brought  to  him  by  hi^  wife  as  he  still  reclined 
upon  the  bed. 

44  Don’t  get  up,”  said  Edith,  seeing  her  hus- 
band, after  he  had  lain  for  some  time,  about  to 
rise. 

44 1 can’t  lie  here  any  longer ; it’s  nearly  seven 
o’clock  now.” 

44  You’re  not  going  out  to-night !” 

44  0 yes ; I must  be  at  the  store.  There  is  no 
one  to  take  my  place,  and  the  "sales  will  begin  by 
the  time  I can  get  there.” 

44  But  you  are  too  sick  to  go  out,  Edward.” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


169 


“ I feel  much  better  than  I did,  Edith.  This  little 
rest  has  refreshed  me  a great  deal.,, 

“No — no,  Edward ! You  must  not  go  away,” 
said  his  wife  in  a distressed  voice.  “ You  are  sick 
now,  and  the  extra  exertion  of  an  evening  may 
throw  you  into  a serious  illness/ ’ 

“ I feel  a great  deal  better,  dear,”  urged  Claire. 
“ But,  sick  or  well,  I must  be  there  to-night,  for  the 
sale  cannot  go  on  without  me.  If  I do  not  feel 

better  to-morrow,  I will  ask  Mr.  F to  get  some 

one,  temporarily,  in  my  place.” 

Still  Edith  opposed,  but  in  vain. 

By  the  time  Claire  arrived  at  the  auction  store, 
his  head  was  throbbing  with  a pain  so  intense  that 
he  could  scarcely  see.  Still,  he  resolutely  perse- 
vered in  his  determination  to  go  through,  if  possible, 
with  the  duties  of  the  evening  ; and  so,  taking  his 
place  at  his  desk,  as  the  auctioneer  went  upon  the 
, stand  to  cry  the  goods  which  had  been  advertised 
for  sale,  he  prepared  to  keep  the  usual  record  of 
purchasers  and  prices.  This  he  was  able  to  do  for 
half  an  hour,  when  overtaxed  and  exhausted  nature 
could  bear  up  no  longer. 

“Mr.  Claire,”  said  the  auctioneer,  as  he  took  in 
hand  a new  article,  “did  you  make  that  last  entry? 
—Mr.  Jackson,  ten  cents  a yard.” 

Claire’s  head  had  fallen  over  on  the  book  in  which 
he  had  been  writing,  and  'the  auctioneer,  supposing 
him  only  yielding  to  a momentary  feeling  of  fatigue, 
or  indolence,  thus  called  his  attention  to  his  duties. 
But  Claire  made  no  answer. 

• “ Say  ! young  man  ! Are  you  asleep  !”  The 

15 


170 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


auctioneer  spoke  now  with  some  sharpness  of  tone; 
but,  as  before,  his  words  were  not  heeded. 

“ What’s  the  matter,  Mr.  Claire?  Are  you 
,sick?” 

Still  no  response  or  movement. 

“ Mr.  Claire  ! Bless  me  !”  The  auctioneer  was 
now  by  his  side,  with  his  hand  on  him.  “ Bring 
some  water,  quick  ! He’s  fainted — or  is  dead  ! 
Here  ! some  one  help  me  to  lay  him  down.” 

Two  or  three  men  came  quickly  behind  the  auc- 
tioneer’s stand  and  assisted  to  lift  the  insensible 
man  from  the  high  stool  on  which  he  was  seated, 
and  place  his  body  in  a reclining  position.  Then 
water  was  dashed  into  his  face,  and  various  other 
means  of  restoration  used.  Full  ten  minutes  passed 
before  signs  of  returning  life  were  exhibited.  His 
recovery  was  very  slow,  and  it  was  nearly  an  hour 
before  he  was  well  enough  to  be  removed  to  his 
dwelling. 

The  shock  of  his  appearance,  supported  from  the 
carriage  in  which  he  had  been  conveyed  home,  by 
two  men,  was  terrible  to  his  wife,  whose  anxiety  and 
fear  had  wrought  her  feelings  already  up  to  a high 
pitch  of  excitement. 

“ Oh  ! what  is  the  matter?  What  has  happen- 
ed  ?”  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands,  while  her  face 
blanched  to  a deathly  paleness. 

“ Don’t  be  frightened,”  returned  Claire,  smiling 
feebly.  u It  was  only  a slight  fainting  fit.  1 m 
■ over  it  now.” 

“ That’s  all,  madam,”  said  the  men  who  had 
brought  him  home.  “ He  merely  fainted.  Don’t 
be  alarmed.  It’s  all  over.” 


■■ 


. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


171 


After  receiving  the  thanks  of  Claire  and  his  as- 
surances that  he  needed  nothing  further  from  their 
kindness,  the  men  retired,  and  Edward  then  made 
every  effort  in  his  power  to  calm  down  the  feelings 
of  his  wife,  who  continued  weeping.  This  was  no 
easy  task,  particularly  as  he  was  unable  long  to  hide 
the  many  evidences  of  serious  illness  from  which  he 
was  suffeiing.  Against  his  remonstrance,  so  soon  as 
she  saw  how  it  was  with  him,  Mrs.  Claire  sent  off 
the  domestic  for  their  family  physician ; who  on 
Earning  the  causes  which  led  to  the  condition  in 
which  he  found  his  patient,  hesitated  not  to  say  that 
he  must,  as  he  valued  his  life,  give  up  the  night 
tasks  he  had  imposed  upon  himself. 

44  Other  men,”  said  Claire,  in  answer  to  this,  44  de- 
vote quite  as  many  hours  to  business.” 

44  All  men  are  not  alike  in  constitution,”  returned 
the  physician.  44  And  even  the  strongest  do  not 
make  overdrafts  upon  th_*  system,  without  finding, 
sooner  or  later,  a deficit  in  their  health-account. 
As  for  you,  nature  has  not  given  you  the  physical 
ability  for  great  endurance.  You  cannot  overtask 
yourself  without  a derangement  of  machinery.” 

How  reluctantly,  and  with  what  a feeling  of  weak- 
ness, Claire  acquiesced  in  this  decision,  the  reader 
may  imagine* 

The  morning  found  him  something  better,  but  not 
well  encugk  to  sit  up.  Mrs.  Claire  had,  by  this 
time,  recovered  in  a measure  her  calmness  and  con- 
fidence. She  had  thought  much,  during  the  sleep- 
less hours  of  the  preceding  night,  and  though  the 
future  was  far  from  opening  clearly  to  her  straining 
vision,  her  mind  rested  in  a well-assured  confidence 


172 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


that  all  things  would  work  together  for  their  good. 
She  knew  in  whom  she  trusted.  On  the  .Rock  of 
Ages  she  had  built  the  habitation  where  dwelt  her 
higher  hopes ; and  the  storms  of  this  world  had  no 
power  to  prevail  against  it. 

How  little  dreamed  gentle  Fanny  Elder — or  Fan* 
ny  Claire,  as  she  was  called — when  she  laid  her 
cheek  lovingly  to  that  of  her  sick  “father” — she 
knew  him  by  no  other  name — and  drew  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  that  he  was  suffering  alone  on  her 
account.  In  her  unselfish  love,  Claire  felt  a sweet 
compensation — while  all  he  endured  on  her  account 
had  the  effect  to  draw  her,  as  it  were,  into  his  very 
heart. 

As  quickly  as  it  could  be  done,  Mrs.  Claire  got 
through  with  the  most  pressing  of  her  morning  du- 
ties, and  then,  the  older  children  away  to  school, 
she  came  and  sat  down  by  her  husband’s  bedside, 
and  took  his  hand  in  hers.  As  he  looked  into  her 
face,  pale  from  sleeplessness  and  anxiety,  tears  filled 
his  eyes. 

“ 0,  Edie!”  said  he,  his  voice  tremulous  with 
feeling,  “ isn’t  this  disheartening?  What  are  we  to 
do  ?” 

“ He  careth  for  us,”  was  the  low,  calmly  spoken 
reply ; and,  as  Edith  lifted  a finger  upward,'  a rpy 
of  heavenly  confidence  beamed  in  her  countenance. 

“ I know,  Edie I know,  but” 

The  sick  man  left  his  sentence  unfinished.  A 
heavy  sigh  marking  his  state  of  doubt,  and  dark- 
ness. 

“ We  must  feel  as  well  as  know,  Edward,”  said 
his  wife.  “ God  is  good.  In  looking  back  through 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


173 


all  our  past  life,  does  not  the  retrospection  lead  to 
this  undoubting  conclusion  ? I am  sure  you  will 
say  yes.  Has  he  not,  in  every  case,  proved  better 
to  us  than  all  our  fears  ? — Why,  then,  should  wo 
distrust  him  now  ? In  the  beautiful  language  of 
Cowrper,  let  us  say  in  these  dark  seasons — 

4 Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense, 

But  trust  Him  for  His  grace  ; 

Behind  a frowning  providence 
He  hides  a smiling  face. 

His  purposes  will  ripen  fast, 

Unfolding  every  hour  ; 

The  bud  may  have  a bitter  taste, 

But  sweet  be  the  flower.’ 

“ Shall  we  doubt  the  sun’s  existence,  because  the 
night  has  fallen  ? No,  dear  husband,  no  ! There 
are  bright  stars  smiling  above  us  in  token  of  his  un- 
erring return.  We  know  that  the  morning  cometh 

o o 

after  a season  of  darkness  ; and  so,  after  our  spirits 
have  lingered  awhile  in  the  realm  of  shadows,  the 
light  will  break  in  from  above.  Has  it  not  always 
been  so,  Edward?” 

“ He  has  led  us  by  a way  which  we  knew  not.” 

The  sick  man’s  eyes  were  closed  as  he  murmured 
these  words  ; and  his  voice  was  slightly  tremulous, 
yet  expressive  of  a returning  state  of  confidence. 

“Yet,  how  safely,”  replied  Edith.  “When  our 
feet  were  in  slippery  places,  and  we  leaned  on  Him, 
did  he  not  support  us  firmly  ? and  wdieTi  the  mire 
and  clay  were  deep  in  our  path,  did  He  not  keep  us 
from  sinking  therein  ?” 

“ He  is  goodness  itself,”  said  Claire,  a calmer  ex- 
pression coming  into  his  face.  “It  is  wrong  so  to 
let  doubt,  distrust,  and  fear  creep  in  and  get  posses- 

15* 


174 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


sion  of  the  heart ; but,  we  are  human — weakness 
and  error  are  born  with  us.  When  the  way  in 
which  we  are  walking  is  suddenly  closed  up  before 
us,  and  we  see  the  opening  to  no  other  way,  how 
can  we  keep  the  faint  heart  from  sinking  ?” 

“ Only  as  Peter  was  saved  from  sinking.  If  we 
look  to  God,  He  will  lift  our  hearts  above  the  yield- 
ing billows.  If  we  stand  still,  hopefully  and  trust- 
ingly, the  high  mountain  before  us  will  become  as  a 
plain,  so  that  we  can  walk  on  in  a smooth  way,  joy- 
ful and  rejoicing.’ ’ 

“ And  so  this  high  mountain,  which  has  risen  up 
so  suddenly,  will  soon  be  cleft  for  us  or  levelled  to  a 
plain,  if  we  wait  patiently  and  confidingly  for  its 
removal  V9 

“ Oh  ! I am  sure  of  it,  Edward,”  replied  Mrs. 
Claire,  with  a beautiful  enthusiasm.  “We  are  His 
creatures,  and  He  loves  us  with  an  infinite  love. 
When  his  children  are  disposed  to  trust  too  much  to 
the  arm  of  flesh,  He  sometimes  shows  them  their 
weakness  in  order  that  they  may  feel  His  strength. 
Faithfully  and  unselfishly,  my  husband,  have  you 
tried  to  meet  the  suddenly  increased  demand  upon 
us : and  this  out  of  love  for  one  of  God’s  children. 
In  the  trial,  weakness  has  prevailed  over  strength. 
Suddenly  your  hands  have  fallen  to  your  side  power- 
less. God  saw  it  all ; and  permitted  it  all ; and,  m 
His  own  good  time,  will  supply,  from  other  sources, 
all  that  is  really  needed.  We  have  the  promise — 
our  bread  shall  be  given,  and  our  water  sure — not 
only  the  natural  food  that  sustains  outward  life,  but 
the  true  bread  of  heavenly  affections,  and  the  waters 
of  pure  truth,  which  nourish  and  sustain  the  spirit.” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


175 


Edith  ceased  speaking.  Her  husband  did  not 
make  an  immediate  reply ; but  lay  pondering  her 
words,  and  letting  his  thoughts  expand  their  wings 
in  the  purer  atmosphere  into  which  she  had  lifted 

him. 

After  that  they  conversed  together  hopefully  of 
the  future ; not  that  they  saw  the  way  more  clearly 
before  them,  but-  heavenly  confidence  had  taken 
the  place  of  human  distrust. 

It  was,  perhaps,  eleven  o’clock  in  the  day — the 
doctor  had  been  there,  and  pronounced  the  condition 
of  his  patient  favourable,  but  enjoined  quiet  and  pro- 
longed rest  from  either  bodily  or  mental  exertion— 
and  the  mind  of  Claire  was  beginning  to  run  again 
in  a slightly  troubled  channel. 

44  Here  is  a letter  for  you,”  said  his  wife,  coming 
into  the  room,  after  a brief  absence.  44  A young 
man  just  left  it  at  the  door.” 

Claire  took  the  letter,  wondering  as  he  did  so  who 
it  could  be  from.  On  breaking  the  seal,  and  unfold 
ing  it,  he  was  greatly  surprised  to  find  within  a check 
to  his  order  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  signed 
Leonard  Jasper ; and  still  more  surprised  to  re&d. 
the  accompanying  note,  which  was  in  these  words : 

44  Enclosed  you  will  find  one  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars,  the  sum  due  you  for  Fanny  Elder’s  main- 
tenance during  the  past  and  current  quarter.  When 
convenient,  I should  be  glad  to  see  you.  Seeing 
that  the  child  has  remained  with  you  so  long,  I don’t 
know  that  it  will  be  advisable  to  make  a change  now, 
although  I had  other  views  in  regard  to  her.  How- 
ever, when  you  call,  we  can  settle  mattprs  in  regard 
to  her  definitively.” 


1 16 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


“Better  to  us  than  all  our  fears,”  murmured 
Claire,  as  he  handed  the  letter  to  his  wife,  who  read 
it  with  a truly  thankful  heart. 

“ Our  way  is  .smooth  once  more,”  she  said,  smil- 
ing through  outpressing  tears — “ the  mountain  has 
become  a level  plain.  All  the  dark  clouds  have 
been  swept  from  our  sky,  and  the  sun  is  shining 
even  more  brightly  than  of  old.” 

It  was  more  than  a week  before  Claire  was  suf- 
ficiently recovered  to  go  out  and  attend  to  business 
as  usual.  At  the  first  opportunity,  he  called  upon 
Mr.  Jasper,  wdio  received  him  with  marked  kindness 
of  manner. 

“I  do  not,  now,”  said  the  merchant,  “entertain 
the  same  views  in  regard  to  my  ward  that  I did 
some  time  ago.  Your  opposition  to  my  wishes  then, 
fretted  me  a good  deal ; and  I made  up  my  mind, 
decisively,  that  so  soon  as  she  was  twelve  years  of 
age,  you  must  give  her  up.  It  was  from  this  feel- 
ing that  I acted  when  I refused  to  pay  your  last  or 
der.  Since  then,  I have  reflected  a good  deal  on 
the  subject ; and  reflection  has  modified,  consider- 
ably, my  feelings.  I can  understand  how  strong 
must  be  the  attachment  of  both  yourself  and  wife, 
and  how  painful  the  thought  of  separation  from  a 
long-cherished  object  of  affection.” 

“ The  dread  of  separation,  Mr.  Jasper,”  replied 
Claire,  “has  haunted  us  during  the  last  two  years 
like  an  evil  spirit.” 

“ It  need  haunt  you  no  more,  Edward,”  was 
the  kindly  spoken  reply.  “ If  you  still  wish  to 
retain  the  care  of  this  child,  you  are  free  to  da 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


177 


“ Yog  have  taken  a mountain  from  my  heart, 
Mr.  Jasper/’  v/asthe  young  man’s  feeling  response. 

“ It  is  settled,  then,  Edward,  that  she  remains 
with  you.  And  now  I must  say  a word  about  her 
education.  I wish  that  to  be  thorough.  She  must 
have  good  advantages ; better  than  the  sum  now 
paid  for  her  maintenance  will  procure.” 

Claire  made  no  reply,  and  Jasper  continued — 

“ I have  this  to  propose.  The  bulk  of  property 
left  by  her  father  is  contained  in  two  moderate-sized 
houses,  one  of  which  is  at  this  time  without  a te- 
nant. It  is  a very  comfortable  house  for  a small 
family.  Just  the  thing,  I should  say,  for  you.  If 
you  will  move  into  this  house,  you  shall  have  it  rent 
free,  as  a set-off  to  the  increased  charge  Eanny  will 
be  to  you  in  future.  The  three  hundred  per  annum 
will  be  paid  as  usual.  How  will  that  do  ?” 

“ The  compensation,  I think,  will  be  greater  than 
the  service,”  replied  Claire. 

“Not  at  all.  During  the  next  five  or  six  years, 
or  until  she  gains  her  majority,  you  will  find  the 
cost  of  clothing  and  education  a constantly  in- 
creasing sum.  I know  more  about  these  things 
than  you  do.  And  I am  very  sure,  since  I under- 
stand your  relation  to  her,  that  twice  this  expendi- 
ture could  not  gain  for  her  what  she  will  have  while 
in  your  care.  As  her  guardian,  I feel  it  my  duty 
to  provide  liberally  for  her  comfort  and  education, 
and  to  this  you,  of  course,  can  have  nothing  to 
object.” 

And  Claire  did  not  object.  In  a few  weeks  from 
that  time  he  removed  into  one  of  the  houses  men- 
tioned by  Jasper— a larger  and  far  more  comfort- 


178 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


able  one  than  that  in  which  he  had  lived  for  several 
years.  Here,  with  a thankful  heart,  he  gathered 
his  wife  and  children  around  him.  How  happy 
they  all  were ! Not  selfishly  happy — if  such  con- 
tradictory terms  may  be  used — but  happy  in  the 
warmth  of  mutual  love.  A heaven  on  earth  was 
this  little  household.  * Shall  we  contrast  it  with  that 
of  Leonard  Jasper  ? No  ! — the  opposite  picture 
would  leave  upon  the  reader’s  mind  too  sad  an  im- 
pression and  we  will  not  burden  this  chapter  with 
mother  shadow. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

During  the  five  or  six  following  years,  a number 
of  events  occurred  bearing  more  or  les3  seriously 
upon  some  of  the  actors  in  our  story.  With  Ed- 
ward Claire  and  his  family,  life  had  flowed  on  in  an 
even  current ; and,  but  for  the  fact  that  his  health 
never  fairly  recovered  from  the  shock  it  received  in 
consequence  of  his  having  taxed  his  physical  system 
beyond  its  capability  of  endurance,  the  sunshine 
would  never  have  been  a moment  from  his  thres- 
hold. 

The  important  addition  made  to  his  income 
through  the  new  arrangement  volunteered  by 
Fanny’s  guardian,  gave  to  his  external  condition  a 
_ more  favourable  aspect.  He  was  no  longer  troubled 
about  the  ways  and  means  of  providing  for  his 
needful  expenses.  A much  better  situation,  so  far 
as  a higher  salary  was  concerned,  had,  duimg  this 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


179 


tune  offered ; but,  as  it  required  an  amount  of  con* 
finement  and  labour  which  he  could  not  give,  with- 
out endangering  his  health,  he  wisely  declined  the 
offer. 

Far  less  smoothly  had  the  current  of  Leonard 
Jasper’s  life  flowed  on.  Twice  during  this  period 
had  he  received  visits  from  his  old  acquaintance, 
Martin,  and  each  time  he  was  made  poorer-  by  fivo 
thousand  dollars.  It  was  all  in  vain  that  he  strug- 
gled and  resisted.  The  man  had  no  compassion  in 
him.  He  cared  not  who  suffered  loss,  so  he  was  the 
gainer. 

There  were  other  miners  at  work  sapping  the 
foundations  of  Jasper’s  fortune,  besides  this  less 
concealed  operator.  Parker,  the  young  man  who 
succeeded  to  the  place  of  Claire,  and  who  was 
afterward  raised  to  the  condition  of  partner,  with 
a limited  interest,  was  far  from  being  satisfied  with 
his  dividend  in  the  business.  The  great  bulk  of 
Jasper’s  means  were  used  in  outside  speculations  * 
and  as  the  result  of  these  became  successively 
known  to  Parker,  his  thoughts  began  to  run  in 
new  channel.  “ If  I only  had  money  to  go  into 
this,”  and,  “ If  I only  had  money  to  go  into  that,” 
Were  words  frequently  on  his  tongue.  Pie  regarded 
himself  as  exceedingly  shrewd  ; and  confidently  be- 
lieved that,  if  he  had  capital  to  work  with,  he  could 
soon  amass  an  independent  fortune. 

“Money  makes  money,”  was  his  favourite  motto. 

Unscrupulous  as  his  partner,  it  is  not  surprising 
that  Parker,  ere  long,  felt  himself  perfectly  author- 
ized to  use  the  credit  of  the  house  in  private 
schemes  of  profit.  To  do  this  safely,  it  was  neces- 


180 


TRUE  RICHES  ; OR, 


sary  to  have  a friend  outside  of  the  firm.  Such 
a friend  he  did  not  find  it  very  hard  to  obtain ; 
and  as  nearly  the  whole  burden  of  the  business  fell 
upon  his  shoulders,  it  was  not  at  all  difficult  to  hide 
every  thing  from  Jasper. 

Confident  as  Parker  w~as  in  his  great  shrewdness, 
his  speculations  outside  of  the  business  did  not  turn 
out  very  favourably.  His  first  essay  was  in  the 
purchase  of  stocks,  on  which  he  lost,  in  a week,  two 
thousand  dollars. 

Like  the  gamester  wTho  loses,  he  only  played 
deeper,  m the  hope  of  recovering  his  losses  ; and 
as  it  often  happens  with  the  gamester,  in  similar 
circumstances,  the  deeper  he  played,  the  more  he 
lost. 

And  so  it  went  on.  Sometimes  the  young  man 
had  a turn  of  good  fortune,  and  sometimes  all  the 
chances  went  against  him.  But  he  wTas  too  far 
committed  to'  recede  without  a discovery.  There 
was  no  standing  still ; and  so  newer  and  bolder  ope- 
rations were  tried,  involving  larger  and  larger  sums 
of  money,  until  the  responsibilities  of  the  firm,  added 
to  the  large  cash  drafts  made  without  the  cog- 
nizance of  Jasper,  were  enormous. 

To  all  such  mad  schemes  the  end  must  come ; 
and  the  end  came  in  this  instance.  Failing  to  pro- 
cure, by  outside  operations,  sufficient  money  to  meet 
several  large  notes,  he  was  forced  to  divulge  a part 
of  his  iniquity  to  Jasper,  in  order  to  save  the  credit 
of  the  firm.  Suspicion  of  a deeper  fraud,  being 
thereby  aroused  in  the  mind  of  his  partner,  time, 
and  a sifting  investigation  of  the  affairs  of  the 
house,  revealed  the  astounding  fact  that  Parker  had 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


181 


abstracted  in  money,  and  given  the  notes  of  the  firm 
for  his  own  use,  to  the  enormous  amount  of  fifty 
thousand  dollars. 

A dissolution  of  co-partnership  took  place  in  con  * 
sequence.  Parker,  blasted  in  reputation,  wTas  dragged 
before  a court  of  justice,  in  order  to  make  him  dis- 
gorge property  alleged  to  be  in  his  possession.  But 
nothing  could  be  found;  and  he  was  finally  dis- 
charged from  custody.  The  whole  loss  fell  upon 
Jasper.  He  had  nursed  a serpent  in  his  bosom, 
warming  it  with  the  warmth  of  his  own  life ; and 
the  serpent  had  stung  him.  Is  it  any  wonder  ? 

This  circumstance,  the  discovery  of  Parker  ’s  fraud- 
ulent doings,  took  place  about  two  years  prior  to 
the  time  when  Fanny  Elder  attained  her  legal  age. 

The  first  thought  of  Jasper,  after  his  separation 
from  Parker,  which  took  place  immediately  on  dis- 
covering that  he  had  used  the  credit  of  the  firm  im- 
properly, wTas  to  send  for  Claire,  and  offer  him  a 
salary  of  a thousand  dollars  a year,  to  come  in  and 
fill  the  responsible  position  as  clerk,  from  which 
Parker  had  just  been  ejected  as  partner. 

“I  can  trust  him  fully,”  said  Jasper  to  himself; 
u and  I don’t  know  anybody  else  that  I can  trust. 
He  is  honest ; I will  give  him  credit  for  that ; too 
honest,  it  may  be,  for  his  own  good.  But,  I don’t 
know.  Who  would  not  rather  be  in  his  shoes  than 
in  Parker’s?” 

For  some  time  Jasper’s  mind  was  favourable  to 
making  Claire  the  offer  proposed,  and  he  was  about 
writing  him  a note,  when  a new  view  of  the  case 
struck  him,  dependent  on  the  young  man’s  relation 
to  his  ward,  Fanny  Elder. 


182 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


“ Oh  no,  no,  no  !”  said  he  emphatically,  speaking 
to  himself — “ that,  I fear  me,  will  not  do.  It  would 
give  him  too  open  an  access  to  my  books,  papers, 
and  private  accounts,  in  which  are  entries  and  me- 
moranda that  it  might  be  dangerous  for  him  to  see.” 

Jasper  sighed  deeply  as  he  finished  this  sentence, 
and  then  fell  into  a musing  state.  His  thoughts, 
while  this  lasted,  were  not  of  the  most  self-satisfying 
character.  Some  serious  doubts  as  to  his  having, 
in  the  main,  pursued  the  wisest  course  in  life,  were 
injected  into  his  mind;  and,  remarkable  as  it  may 
seem  for  one  so  absorbed  in  the  love  of  gain,  there 
were  moments  when  he  almost  envied  the  poor,  but 
honest  clerk,  who  had  an  approving  conscience,  and 
feared  no  man’s  scrutiny. 

It  was  with  no  slight  reluctance  that  he  finally 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  altogether 
unsafe  to  take  Claire  into  his  employment.  And  so 
he  cast  about  for  some  one  to  supply  the  place  left 
vacant  by  Parker’s  withdrawal  from  the  business. 
In  his  final  selection  he  was  not  over-fortunate,  as 
the  result  proved.  The  new  clerk  was  shrewd,  and 
capable  enough,  and  apparently  as  much  devoted  to 
nis  employer’s  interests  as  Jasper  could  wish.  Had 
not  his  own  interests  been  regarded  as  paramount  to 
those  of  the  merchant,  Jasper  would  have  possessed 
in  him  a valuable  assistant.  But  the  clerk  did  not 
• rise  superior  to  temptations  which,  came  in  his  way. 
Jasper  continued  to  trade  on  the  close-cutting,  over- 
reaching, and  unscrupulous  system  ; and  under  such 
a teacher  his  clerk  proved  an  apt  learner. 

“ He  cuts  right  and  left,”  said  he  to  himself,  “and 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS, 


183 


why  may  not  I cut  left  and  right  when  a good  oppor- 
tunity offers  ?” 

Soon  he  began  to  “ cut  left  and  right,”  as  he 
termed  it,  and  it  was  not  remarkable  that,  in  his 
cutting  operations,  his  employer  occasionally  suf- 
fered. The  upshot  was,  after  holding  his  situation 
a year,  that  several  false  entries,  in  his  hand-writ- 
ing, were  discovered  in  the  books  of  Mr.  Jasper.  To 
what  extent  he  robbed  his  employer,  the  latter  never 
accurately  knew ; but  he  was  worse  off  by  at  least 
three  or  four  thousand  dollars  through  his  pecula- 
tions. 

Again  the  question  of  taking  Claire  once  more  into 
his  employment  came^  up  in  the  mind  of  Jasper. 
After  viewing  it  on  every  side,  the  decision  was  ad- 
verse. He  felt  that  too  great  a risk  was  involved. 
And  so  he  employed  one  in  whom  he  could  confide 
With  less  certainty. 

Several  years  had  now  passed  since  the  merchant 
began  to  feel  the  shock  of  adverse  winds.  All  be- 
fore was  a summer  sea,  and  the  ship  of  his  fortune 
had  bent  her  sails  alone  to  favouring  breezes.  But 
this  was  to  be  no  longer.  His  ship  had  suffered  not 
only  by  stress  of  weather,  but  also  by  the  sacrifice 
of  a portion  of  cargo  to  save  what  remained.  And, 
at  last,  she  was  driving  on  toward  the  breakers,  and 
her  safety  from  destruction  only  hoped  for  through 
the  activity,  skill,  and  tireless  vigilance  of  her 
helmsman. 

A few  years  before,  Mr.  Jasper  considered  him- 
self worth  between  two  and  three  hundred  thousand 
dollars ; now,  he  passed  sleepless  nights  in  fear  of 
impenling  ruin.  He  had  trusted  in  riches ; he  had 


184 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


called  them,  in  his  heart,  the  greatest  good.  At  his 
word  they  had  poured  in  upon  him  from  all  sides, 
until  he  was  half  bewildered  at  sight  of  the  glitter- 
ing treasures ; but,  just  as  he  began  to  feel  secure 
in  his  possessions,  they  began  to  take  themselves 
wings  and  fly  away. 

And,  alas  for  him  ! he  had  laid  up  no  other  trea* 
sures.  None  in  heaven ; none  in  the  hearts  of  his 
wife  and  children  ; none  in  his  own  mind.  The  staff 
upon  which  he  had  leaned  was  now  a splintering  reed, 
wounding  as  it  bent  under  him. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

There  was  one  point  of  time  to  which  Leonard 
Jasper  looked  with  no  little  anxiety,  and  that  was 
to  the  period  of  Fanny  Elder's  majority,  when  it  was 
his  purpose  to  relinquish  his  guardianship,  and  wash 
his  hands,  if  it  were  possible  to  do  so,  entirely  clean 
of  her.  Until  the  estate  left  by  her  father  was  set- 
tled up,  the  property  in  her  hands  and  receipts  in 
his,  there  was  danger  ahead.  And,  as  the  time  drew 
nearer  and  nearer,  he  felt  increasing  uneasiness. 

On  the  very  day  that  Fanny  reached  her  eighteenth 
year,  Jasper  sent  a note  to  Claire,  asking  an  inter* 
view. 

“I  wish,”  said  he,  when  the  latter  came,  “ to  have 
some  conference  with  you  about  Miss  Elder.  She 
has  now,  you  are  no  doubt  aware,  attained  the  legal 
age.  Such  being  the  case,  I wish,  as  early  as  it 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINJS. 


185  - 


can  be  done,  to  settle  up  the  estate  of  her  father, 
and  pay  over  to  her,  or  to  any  person  she  may  se- 
lect'as  her  agent,  the  property  in  my  hands.  It 
has  increased  some  in  value.  Will  you  consult  her 
on  the  subject  ?” 

Claire  promised  to  do  so;  and,  at  the  same  time, 
Asked  as  to  the  amount  of  Fanny’s  property. 

“ The  total  value  will  not  fall  much  short  of  eight 
thousand  dollars,”  replied  Jasper.  a There  are  two 
houses  and  lots  that  would  sell  at  any  time  for  six 
thousand  dollars.  You  live  in  one  of  these  houses, 
and  the  other  is  rented  for  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars.  Then  there  are  nearly  two  thousand  dol- 
lars in  six  per  cent,  stocks.  When  her  father  died, 
his  estate  consisted  of  these  two  houses,  and  a piece 
of  poor  land  which  he  had  taken  as  satisfaction  for 
a debt.  At  the  first  opportunity,  I sold  the  land 
and  invested  the  money.  This  sum,  with  accumu- 
lations of  interest,  and  rents  received  for  several 
years,  beyond  what  was  required  for  Fanny’s  main- 
tenance, has  now  increased  to  within  a fraction  of 
two  thousand  dollars,  and  is,  as  just  said,  invested 
in  stocks.  I think,”  added  Jasper,  “that  you 
had  better  assume  the  management  of  this  property 
yourself.  Get  from  Miss  Elder  a power  of  attorney 
authorizing  you  to  settle  the  estate,  and  the  whole 
business  can  be  completed  in  a very  short  time.  I 
will  make  you  out  an  accurate  statement  of  e\cry 
thing,  so  that  you  will  be  at  no  loss  to  comprehend 
the  accounts.” 

To  this  there  could,  of  course,  be  no,  objection  on 
the  part  of  Claire.  He  promised  to  confer  with 

16* 


186 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


Fanny,  and  let  Jasper  know,  in  a day  or  two,  the 
result. 

Now  came  a new  trial  for  Claire  and  his  wife. 
; They  had*  taken  Fanny,  when  only  four  years  of 
age,  and  taken  her  so  entirely  into  their  home  and 
affections,  that  she  had  almost  from  the  first  seemed 
to  them  as  one  of  their  own  children.  In  a brief 
time  the  earlier  memories  of  the  child  faded.  The 
past  was  absorbed  in  the  present ; and  she  loved  as 
parents  none  other  than  those  she  called  by  the  ten- 
der names  of  “ father”  and  “mother.”  The  children 
with  whom  she  grew  up  she  knew  only  as  her  bro- 
thers and  sisters.  This  thorough  adoption  and  in- 
corporation of  the  child  into  their  family  was  not, 
in  any  sense,  the  work  of  design  on  the  part  of 
Claire  and  his  wife.  But  they  saw,  in  the  beginning, 
no  reason  to  check  the  natural  tendency  thereto. 
When  little  Fanny,  of  her  own  accord,  addressed 
them,  soon  after  her  virtual  adoption,  as  “father” 
and  “mother,”  they  accepted  the  child’s  own  inter- 
pretation of  their  relative  positions,  and  took,  her 
from  that  moment  more  entirely  into  their  hearts. 

And  so  Fanny  Elder  grew  up  to  womanhood,  in 
the  full  belief  that  she  was  the  child  of  Mr.  and  Mrs, 
Claire.  The  new  trial  through  which  this  excellent 
couple  were  now  to  pass,  the  reader  can  easily  ima- 
gine. The  time  had  come  when  Fanny  must  know 
the  real  truth  in  regard  to  herself — must  be  told  that 
she  had  no  natural  claim  upon  the  love  of  those 
whose  love  she  prized  above  all  things. 

It  seemed  cruel  to  take  away  the  conscious  right 
to  love  and  be  loved,  which  had  so  long  blessed  her. 
Amd  yet  the  truth  must  now  be  made  known,  and 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WIN3S. 


187 


Mrs.  Claire  took  upon  herself  the  task  of  breaking 
it  as  gently  as  possible. 

A woman  in  age  and  stature,  yet  with  all  the  gen 
tie  deference  of  a daughter,  Fanny  moved  by  the 
side  of  Mrs.  Claire  with  a loving  thoughtfulness, 
daily  sharing  her  household  duties.  Some  months 
before  she  had  left  school,  but  was  still  taking  les- 
sons in  music  and  French,  and  devoting  a portion 
of  time  to  practice  in  drawing,  for  which  she  had  a 
decided  taste. 

On  the  day  after  Mr.  Claire’s  interview  with  Jas- 
per, Mrs.  Claire  said  to  Fanny,  with  a seriousness 
of  tone  and  manner  that  brought  a look  of  surprise 
to  her  face — 

“ Come  to  my  room  with  me,  dear.  I have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you.” 

Fanny  moved  along  by  her  side,  wondering  to 
herself  what  could  be  in  her  mother’s  mind.  On 
entering  the  chamber,  Mrs.  Claire  shut  the  door,  and 
then,  as  she  sat  down,  with  an  arm  around  the  young 
girl’s  waist,  she  said,  in  a thoughtful,  earnest  voice — 

“ Fanny,  I want  you  to  tell  me  the  first  thing 
you  recollect  in  life.” 

“The  first  thing,  mother?”  She  smiled  at  a re- 
quest so  unexpected,  and  Mrs.  Claire  smiled  in  re- 
turn, though  from  a different  cause. 

“Yes,  dear.  I have  a reason  for  asking  this. 
Now,  let  your  thoughts  run  back — far  back,  and 
recall  for  me  the  very  first  thing  you  can  recollect.” 

The  countenance  of  Fanny  grew  thoughtful,  then 
serious,  and  then  a half-frightened  look  flashed 
over  it. 


188 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


“Why,  mother,”  said  she,  “what  can  you  mean! 
What  do  you  want  to  know?” 

“Your  first  recollection,  dear?”  returned  Mrs. 
Claire,  with  an  assuring  smile,  although  her  heart 
was  full,  and  it  required  the  most  active  self-control 
to  prevent  her  feelings  from  becoming  manifest  in 
her  voice. 

“Well,  let  me  see  ! The  first  ? The  first  ? I was 
playing  on  the  floor  with  a dear  little  baby  ? It  was 
our  Edie,  Wasn’t  it  ?” 

“Yes — so  far  your  memory  is  correct.  I remem- 
ber the  time  to  which  you  refer  as  perfectly  as  if 
but  a week  had  passed.  Now,  dear,  try  if  you  can 
recall  any  thing  beyond  that.” 

“Beyond  that,  mother?  Oh,  why  do  you  ask? 
You  make  me  feel  so  strangely.  Can  it  be  that 
some  things  I have  thought  to  be  only  the  memory 
of  dreams,  are  indeed  realities  ?” 

“What  are  those  things,  my  child?” 

“ I have  a dim  remembrance  of  a pale,  but  beau- 
tiful woman  who  often  kissed  and  caressed  me — of 
being  in  a sick-room — of  a strange  confusion  in  the 
house — of  riding  in  a carriage  with  father  to  a fune- 
ral. Mother ! is  there  any  thing  in  this ; if  so,  what 
does  it  mean  ?” 

“ That  woman,  Fanny,”  said  Mrs.  Claire,  speak» 
ing  with  forced  composure,  “was  your  mother.” 

The  face  of  the  young  girl  grew  instantly  pale ; 
her  lips  parted  ; and  she  gasped  for  breath.  Then 
falling  forward  on  the  bosom  of  Mrs.  Claire,  she 
sobbed — 

“Oh,  mother!  mother!  How  can  you  say  this? 


i 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


189 


It  cannot,  it  cannot  be.  You  are  my  own,  my  only 
mother.” 

“You  did  not  receive  your  life  through  me,  Fan- 
ny,” replied  Mrs.  Claire,  so  soon  as  she  could  com- 
mand her  voice,  for  she  too  was  overcome  by  feel- 
ing— “but  in  all  else  I am  your  mother;  and  I love 
you  equally  with  my  other  children. , If  there  has 
ever  been  a difference,  it  has  all  been  in  your  favour.” 

“ Why,  why  did  you  destroy  the  illusion  under  which 
I have  so  long  rested?”  said  Fanny,  when  both  were 
more  composed.  “Why  tell  me  a truth  from  which 
no  good  can  flow?  Why  break  in  upon  my  happy 
ignorance  with  such  a chilling  revelation  ? Oh,  mo- 
ther, mother  ! Forgive  me,  if  I say  you  have  been 
cruel.” 

“ Not  so,  my  child.  Believe  mu,  that  nothing  but 
duty  would  have  ever  driven  me  to  this  avowal.  You 
are  now  at  woman’s  legal  age.  You  have  a guar- 
dian, in  whose  hands  your  father,  at  his  death,  left, 
for  your  benefit,  some  property ; and  this  person  now 
desires  to  settle  the  estate,  and  transfer  to  you  what 
remains.” 

Bewildered,  like  one  awakening  from  a dream, 
Fanny  listened  to  this  strange  announcement.  And 
it  was  some  time  before  she  really  comprehended  her 
true  position. 

“Not  your  child — a guardian — property ! — What; 
does  it  all  mean?  Am  I really  awake,  mother?” 

“ Yes,  dear,  you  are  awake.  It  is  no  dream,  be- 
lieve me,”  was  the  tender  reply  of  Mrs.  Claire.  “ But, 
remember,  that  all  this  does  not  diminish  our  love 
for  you — does  not  remove  you  in  the  least  from  our 


190 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


affections.  You  are  still  our  child,  bound  to  U3  by  a 
thousand  intertwining  chords.” 

But  little  more  passed  between  them  at  this  in- 
terview. Fanny  asked  for  no  more  particulars,  and 
Mrs.  Claire  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  give  any 
further  information.  Fanny  soon  retired  to  her  own 
chamber,  there  to  commune  with  her  thoughts,  and 
to  seek,  in  tears,  relief  to  her  oppressed  feelings. 

The  meeting  of  Claire  with  Fanny,  on  his  return 
home,  was  affecting.  She  met  him  with  a quivering 
lip  and  moistened  eyes,  and,  as  she  laid  her  cheek 
against  his  breast,  murmured  in  a sad,  yet  deeply 
affectionate  voice — 

“ My  father !” 

“ My  own  dear  child  !”  quickly  replied  Claire,  with 
emotion. 

And  then  both  stood  for  some  time  silent.  Lead- 
ing her  to  a seat,  Claire  said  tenderly — 

“ I have  always  loved  you  truly,  and  now  you 
are  dearer  to  me  than  ever.” 

“My  more  than  father,”  was  her  simple  response. 
“ My  own  dear  child !”  said  Mr.  Claire,  kissing 
her  fondly.*  “We  have  ever  blessed  the  day  on 
which  you  came  to  us  from  God.” 

Words  would  only  have  mocked  their  feelings, 
and  so  but  few  words  passed  between  them,  yet  how 
full  of  thoughts  crowding  upon  thoughts  were  their 
minds — how  over-excited  their  hearts  wiili  new  emo- 
tions of  love. 

After  the  younger  members  of  the  family  had  re- 
tired on  that  evening,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Claire  and 
Fanny  were  alone  together.  All  three  weic  in  a 
calmer  state  of  mind.  Fanny  listened  with  ctaep  at- 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


191 


tention,  her  hand  shading  her  countenance  so  as  to 
conceal  its  varying  expression,  to  a brief  history  of 
her  parentage.  Of  things  subsequent  to  the  time  of 
her  entrance  into  her  present  home,  but  little  wag 
said.  There  was  an  instinctive  delicacy  on  the  part 
of  Claire  and  his  wife,  now  that  Fanny  was  about 
coming  into  the  possession  of  property,  which  kept 
back  all  allusion  to  the  sacrifices  they  had  made,  and 
the  pain  they  had  suffered  on  her  account,  in  their 
contentions  with  her  guardian.  In  fact,  this  matter 
of  property  produced  with  them  a feeling  of  embar- 
rassment. They  had  no  mercenary  thoughts  in  re- 
gard to  it — had  no  wish  to  profit  by  their  intimate 
and  peculiar  relation.  And  yet,  restricted  in  their 
own  income,  and  with  a family  growing  daily  more 
expensive,  they  understood  but  too  well  the  embar- 
rassment which  would  follow,  if  any  very  important 
change  were  made  in  their  present  external  relations. 
To  explain  every  thing  to  Fanny,  would,  they,  knew, 
lead  to  an  instant  tender  of  all  she  possessed.  But 
this  they  could  not  do ; nor  had  they  a single  selfish 
desire  in  regard  to  her  property.  If  things  could 
remain  as  they  were,  without  injustice  to  Fanny, 
they  would  be  contented ; but  they  were  not  alto- 
gether satisfied  as  to  the  amount  they  were  receiv- 
ing for  her  maintenance.  It  struck  them  as  being 
too  much ; and  they  had  more  than  once  conferred 
together  in  regard  to  its  reduction. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  make  Fanny 
comprehend  her  relation  to  Mr.  Jasper,  her  guar- 
dian, and  his  wish  to  settle  up  the  estate  of  hex 
father,  and  transfer  to  her,  or  her  representative, 
the  property  that  remained  in  his  hands, 


192 


TRUE  RICHES  , OR, 


“ I will  leave  all  with  you,  father,"  was  tne  very 
natural  response  made  to  this.  64  All  I have  is  yours. 
Do  just  as  you  think  best.” 

On’  the  next  day  a power  of  attorney  in  the 
name  of  Edward  Claire  was  executed  ; and,  as  Jas- 
per was  anxious  to  get  the  business  settled,  every 
facility  thereto  was  offered.  Claire  examined  the 
will  of  Mr.  Elder,  in  which  certain  property  was  men- 
tioned, and  saw  that  it  agreed  with  the  guardian’s 
statement.  All  the  accounts  w^ere  scrutinized  ; and 
all  the  vouchers  for  expenditure  compared  with  the 
various  entries.  Every  thing  appeared  correct,  and 
Claire  expressed  himself  entirely  satisfied.  All  le- 
gal forms  were  then  complied'  with;  and,  in  due 
time,  the  necessary  documents  were  prepared  ready 
for  the  signature  of  Claire,  by  which  Jasper  would 
be  freed  from  the  nervous  anxiety  he  had  for  years 
felt  whenever  his  thoughts  went  forward  to  this  par- 
ticular point  of  time. 

On  the  evening  preceding  the  day  when  a con- 
summation so  long  and  earnestly  looked  for  was  to 
take  place,  Jasper,  with  his  mind  too  much  absorbed 
in  business  troubles  to  mingle  with  his  family,  sat 
alone  in  his  library,  deeply  absorbed  in  plans  and 
calculations.  His  confidence  in  fortune  and  his  own 
prudence  had  been  growing  weaker,  daily;  anl 
now  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  a great  darkness  were 
gathering  all  around.  He  had  fully  trusted  in  him- 
self ; alas  ! how  weak  now  seemed  to  him  his  hu- 
man arm  ; how  dim  the  vision  with  which  he  would 
penetrate  the  future.  He  was  mocked  of  his  own 
overweening  and  proud  confidence. 

This  was  his  state  of  mind  when  a servant  came 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINOS. 


m 


to  the  library-door,  and  announced  a gentleman  wh® 
wished  to  see  him. 

44  What  is  his  name  ?”  asked  Jasper. 

44  He  said  it  v/as  no  difference.  He  was  & 
friend.” 

44  It  might  make  a great  difference,”  Jasper  mut- 
tered in  an  undertone.  44  Show  him  up,”  he  said 
aloud. 

The  servant  retired,  and  Jasper  waited  for  his 
visitor  to  appear.  He  was  not  long  in  suspense. 
The  door  soon  reopened,  and  a man,  poorly  clad, 
and  with  a face  bearing  strong  marks  of  intempe- 
rance and  evil  passions,  came  in. 

44  You  do  not  know  me,”  said  he,  observing  that 
the  merchant,  who  had  risen  to  his  feet,  did  not 
recognise  him. 

Jasper  shook  his  head. 

44  Look  closer.”  There  was  an  air  of  familiarity 
and  rude  insolence  about  the  man. 

44  Martin  1”  exclaimed  Jasper,  stepping  back  a 
few  paces.  44  Is  it  possible  !” 

44  Quite  possible,  friend  Jasper,”  returned  the 
man,  helping  himself  to  a chair,  and  sinking  into  it 
with  the  air  of  one  who  felt  himself  at  home. 

Surprise  and  perplexity  kept  the  merchant 
dumb  for  some  moments.  He  would  quite  as  lief 
have  been  confronted  with  a robber,  pistol  in 
hand. 

44 1 do  not  wish  to  see  you,  Martin,”  said  he,  at 
length,  speaking  in  a severe  tone  of  voice.  44  Why 
have  you  intruded  on  me  again?  Are  you  noi 
satisfied  ? Have  you  no  mercy  ?” 

44  None,  Leonard  Jasper,  none,”  replied  the  man 


194 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


scowling  44  I never  knew  the  meaning  of  the  word 
~no  more  than  yourself.” 

44  You  are  nothing  better  than  a robber/’  said  the 
merchant,  bitterly. 

44  I only  share  with  bolder  robbers  their  richer 
plunder,”  retorted  the  man. 

“I  will  not  bear  this,  Martin.  Leave  my  pre* 
Bence.” 

44  I will  relieve  you  certainly,”  said  the  visitor, 
rising,  44  when  you  have  done  for  me  what  I wish. 
I arrived  here,  to-day,  penniless ; and  have  called 
for  a trifling  loan  to  help  me  on  my  way  North.” 

44  Loan  ! what  mockery  ! I will  yield  no  further 
to  your  outrageous  demands.  I was  a fool  ever  to 
have  feared  the  little  power  you  possess.  Go,  sir  ! 
I do  not  fear  you.” 

44 1 want  your  check  for  two  hundred  dollars— no 
more,”  said  Martin,  in  a modified  tone — “I  will  not 
be  hard  on  you.  Necessity  drives  me  to  this  resort : 
but  I hope  never  to  trouble  you  again.” 

44  Not  a dollar,”  replied  Jasper,  firmly.  44  And 
now,  my  friend,  seek  some  other  mode  of  sustaining 
yourself  in  vice  and  idleness.  You  have  received 
from  me  your  last  contribution.  In  settling  the  es- 
tate of  Reuben  Elder  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of 
all  parties,  I have  disarmed  you.  You  have  no  fur- 
ther power  to  hurt.” 

44  You  may  find  yourself  mistaken  in  regard  to 
my  power,”  replied  Martin  as  he  made  a move- 
ment toward  the  door,  and  threw  back  upon  the 
merchant  a side-glance  of  the  keenest  malignity. 
44  Many  a foot  has  been  stung  by  the  reptile  it 
spurned.” 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


195 


The  word  u stay”  came  not  to  Jasper  s lips.  He 
Was  fully  in  earnest.  Martin  paused,  with  lik  hand 
on  the  door,  and  said — 

“ One  hundred  dollars  will  do.” 

“ Not  a copper,  if  it  were  to  save  you  from 
the  nether  regions  !”  cried  Jasper,  his  anger  and 
indignation  o’erleaping  the  boundaries  of  self- 
control. 

He  vras  alone  in  the  next  moment.  As  his  ex- 
citement cooled  down,  he  felt  by  no  means  indif- 
ferent to  the  consequences  which  might  follow  this 
rupture  with  Martin.  More  than  one  thought  pre- 
sented itself,  which,  if  it  could  have  been  weighed 
calmly  a few  minutes  before,  would  have  caused  a 
slightly  modified  treatment  of  his  unwelcome  visitor. 

But  having  taken  his  position,  Jasper  determined 
to  adhere  to  it,  and  brave  all  consequences. 

While  Claire  was  yet  seated  at  the  breakfast 
table  on  the  next  morning,  word  was  brought  that 
a gentleman  was  in  the  parlour  and  wished  to  see 
him. 

On  entering  the  parlour,  he  found  there  a man  of 
exceedingly  ill  appearance,  both  as  to  countenance 
and  apparel. 

“ My  name  is  Martin,”  said  this  person — “ thougn 
you  do  not,  I presume,  know  me.” 

Claire  answered  that  he  was  to  him  an  entiie 
stranger. 

“ I have,”  said  the  man,  speaking  in  a low, 
confidential  tone  of  voice,  “became  cognisant  of 
certain  facts,  which  it  much  concerns  you,  or  at 
least  your  adopted  daughter,  Fanny  Elder,  to 
fcnow.” 


196 


TRUE  RICHES  , OR, 


For  a few  moments,  Claire  was  overcome  with 
surprise. 

“ Concerns  Fanny  Elder  to  know  ! What  do  you 
mean,  sir  ?” 

44  Precisely  what  I say.  There  has  been  a great 
fraud  committed ; and  I know  all  the  ins  and  the 
outs  of  it !” 

“ By  whom?”  asked  Claire. 

44  Ah  !”  replied  the  visitor,  64  that  we  will  come  to 
after  a while.” 

44  Upon  whom,  then?” 

44  Upon  the  estate  of  Ruben  Elder,  the  father 
of  your  adopted  daughter.” 

Not  liking  either  the  man’s  appearance  or  man- 
ner, Claire  said,  after  a moment’s  reflection— 

44  Why  have  you  called  to  see  me?” 

44  To  give  the  information  I have  indicated — pro- 
vided, of  course,  that  you  desire  to  have  it.” . 

44  On  what  terms  do  you  propose  to  act  in  this 
matter  ? Let  us  understand  each  other  in  the  be- 
ginning.” 

44 1 can  put  you  in  the  way  of  recovering  for  Miss 
Elder  from  twenty  to  a hundred  thousand  dollars, 
out  of  which  she  has  been  cheated.  But,  before  I 
give  you  any  information  on  the  subject,  I shall  re- 
quire an  honourable  pledge  on  your  part,  as  well  as 
written  agreement,  to  pay  me  twenty  per  cent,  of 
the  whole  amount  recovered.  Will  you  give  it  ?” 

Claire  bent  his  head  in  thought  for  some  moments. 
When  he  looked  up  he  said — 

44  No,  sir.  I can  make  no  compact  with  you  of 

this  kind.” 

44  Very  well,  sir  That  closes  the  matter,  r© 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


197 


Dlied  Martin,  rising.  “ If  you  will  not  buy  a for- 
tune at  so  small  a cost,  you  deserve  to  be  poor. 
How  far  your  conscience  is  clear  in  respect  to  Miss 
Elder,  is  another  matter.  But,  perhaps  you  don’t 
credit  what  I say.  Let  me  give  you  a single  hint. 
Fanny  Elder  was  missing  once  for  three  days.  1 
had  a hand  in  that  affair.  Do  you  think  she  was 
carried  off,  and  taken  to  another  city  for  nothing  ? 
If  so,  you  are  wonderfully  mistaken.  But  good 
morning,  sir.  If  you  should,  on  reflection,  change 
your  mind,  you  can  hear  of  me  by  calling  at  the 
office  of  Grind,  the  lawyer.” 

“ Good  morning,”  returned  Claire,  showing  not 
the  least  disposition  to  retain  the  man,  toward  whom 
he  experienced  a strong  feeling  of  dislike  and  sense 
of  repulsion. 

Martin  lingered  a few  moments,  and  then  went 
out,  leaving  Claire  bewildered  by  a rush  of  new 
thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  meeting  of  Claire  and  Jasper,  for  the  final 
settlement  of  Mr.  Elder’s  estate,  was  to  take  place 
at  the  office  of  Grind,  at  ten  o’clock.  Before  keep- 
ing his  appointment,  the  former  turned  over  in  his 
mind,  with  careful  deliberation,  the  circumstances 
which  had  just  occurred ; and  the  more  he  thought 
of  it,  the  better  satisfied  was  he  that  a fraud  had 
been  committed.  The  author  of  that  fraud  could 

17* 


198 


true  riches;  or, 


be  no  one  else  but  the  guardian  of  Fanny;  of  whoso 
honesty  Claire  had,  with  good  reason,  no  very  high 
opinion.  His  conclusion  was,  not  to  accept,  at  pre- 
sent, a settlement  of  the  estate. 

With  an  uneasy  foreboding  of  evil— he  was,  in 
fact,  rarely  now  without  that  feeling — Leonard  Jas- 
per took  his  way  to  the  office  of  Grind.  Notwith- 
standing he  had  defied  Martin,  he  yet  feared  him. 
But  he  was  so  near  to  the  point  of  comparative  safety, 
that  he  hoped  soon  to  be  past  all  real  danger  from 
this  quarter.  Too  little  time  had  elapsed,  since  he 
parted  with  him,  for  Martin  to  see  Claire,  even  if  a 
thought  of  assailing  him  in  that  quarter  had  crossed 
his  mind.  So  Jasper  believed.  How  sadly  taken 
by  surprise  was  he,  therefore,  when,  on  meeting 
Claire,  the  latter  said— 

“ Since  I saw  you  yesterday,  a matter  has  come 
to  my  knowledge  which  I feel  bound  to  investigate, 
before  proceeding  any  farther  in  this  business.’ ’ 

As  if  struck  by  a heavy  blow,  Jasper  moved  a pace 
or  two  backward,  while  an  instant  pallor  overspread 
his  face.  Quickly  .recovering  himself,  he  said — 
“Explain  yourself,  Edward.  What  matter  has 
come  to  your  knowledge?” 

“On  that  subject  I would  prefer  speaking  with 
you  alone,”  replied  Claire. 

“ This  room  is  at  your  service,”  said  Grind,  rising 
and  retiring  toward  his  front  office.  “You  will  be 
altogether  free  from  intrusion.”  And  he  passed  out, 
closing  the  door  behind  him. 

“Edward,”  said  Jasper,  in  as  firm  a voice  as  he 
could  assume,  “What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  You 
look  at  me  with  an  expression  of  countenance,  and 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


199 


have  spoken  in  a tone  that  implies  a belief  on  your 
part  that  I have  not  acted  fairly  in  the  matter  of 
this  guardianship.” 

44  Such,  at  least,  is  my  impression,”  replied  Claire, 
firmly. 

•4  Have  you  come  here  to  insult  me,  sir  ?”  Jas- 
per drew  himself  up  with  an  offended  manner. 

44  No,  Mr.  Jasper.  I have  no  such  intention. 
All  I purpose  is,  to  ascertain  how  far  certain  in- 
formation received  by  me  this  morning  is  correct.” 

44  What  information  ?” 

The  merchant  became  a good  deal  agitated. 

44  A man  named  Martin  ealled  on  me”- 

44  Martin!  oh,  the  wretch!  My  curses  rest  on 
him,  for  a base  betrayer!” 

Claire  was  startled  at  the  effect  produced  by  his 
mention  of  the  name  of  Martin.  Jasper,  on  hear- 
ing this  name,  believed  that  every  thing  had  been 
divulged,  and,  in  the  bitterness  and  despair  of  this 
conviction,  threw  off  all  concealment.  His  counte- 
nance, which  had  partly  gained  its  usual  colour,  be 
came  pallid  again,  while  large  beads  of  sweat  oozed 
from  the  relaxed  pores  and  stood  upon  his  forehead. 
Moving  back  a step  or  two,  he  sank  into  a chair, 
and  averting  his  face,  sat  struggling  with  himself  to 
regain  the  mastery  over  his  feelings. 

How  changed,  in  a few  brief  years,  had  become 
the  relation  of  these  two  men.  The  poor,  humble, 
despised,  but  honest  clerk,  now  stood  erect,  while 
the  merchant  cowered  before  him  in  humiliation 
and  fear. 

44  Edward,”  said  Jasper,  as  soon  as  he  had  suffi- 
cient composure  of  mind  to  think  somewhat  clearly 


200 


TRUE  RICHES;  OR, 


and  speak  calmly,  “ What  do  yon  purpose  doing  m 
this  matter  ?” 

“What  is  right,  Mr.  Jasper,”  answered  Claire* 
firmly.  “That  is  my  duty.” 

“ Ruin  ! ruin  ! ruin  !”  exclaimed  Jasper,  in  a lr  w 
voice,  again  losing  command  of  himself,  and  wring- 
ing his  hands  hopelessly.  “ Oh ! that  it  should  have 
come  to  this !” 

Astonished  as  Claire  was  by  what  he  now  heard 
and  saw,  he  felt  the  necessity  of  preserving  the 
most  entire  self-possession.  When  Jasper  again  put 
the  question — 

“ What  do  you  purpose  doing,  Edward  ?”  he  re- 
plied. 

“ I shall  he  better  able  to  answer  that  question 
when  I have  all  the  particulars  upon  which  to  make 
up  a decision.  At  present,  I only  know  that  a 
large  amount  of  property  has  been  withheld  from 
Miss  Elder  ; and  that  I have  only  to  bring  this  man 
Martin  into  a court  of  justice  to  have  every  thing 
made  clear.” 

“ And  this  you  purpose  doing  ?” 

“ I shall  do  so,  undoubtedly;  unless  the  object  to 
be  gained  by  such  a course  is  secured  in  another 
way.” 

“ Quite  as  much,  believe  me,  Edward,  can  be 
gained  through  private  arrangement  as  by  legal  in- 
vestigation,” returned  Jasper,  his  manner  greatly 
subdued.  “You  and  I can  settle  every  thing,  1 
am  sure,  between  ourselves ; and,  as  far  as  my 
ability  will  carry  me,  it  shall  be  to  your  entire  satis- 
faction. I have  greatly  mistaken  your  character 
or  you  will  take  no  pleasure  in  destroying  me.” 


WEA-.TH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


201 


“ Pleasure  in  destroying  you  ?”  Claire  was  still 
further  affected  with  surprise.  44  In  no  man’s  le- 
st ruction  could  I take  pleasure.’ 

“ I believe  you  Edward.  And  now  let  me  give 
you  a history  of  this  matter  from  the  beginning. 
You  will  know  better  what  course  to  pursue  when 
you  comprehend  it  fully.” 

And  then,  to  the  astonished  ears  of  Claire,  Jas- 
per related  how,  through  the  man  Martin,  he  be- 
came possessed  of  the  fact  that  the  supposed  almost 
valueless  piece  of  land  in  Pennsylvania  which  Mr. 
Elder  had  taken  to  secure  a debt  of  five  hundred 
dollars,  contained  a rich  coal  deposit e — and  how, 
as  executor  to  his  estate,  and  the  guardian  of  his 
child,  he  had  by  presenting  the  child  in  person  be- 
fore commissioners  appointed  by  the  court,  obtained 
an  order  for  the  sale  of  the  land,  with  the  declared 
purpose  of  investing  the  proceeds  in  some  produc- 
tive property.  It  was  for  this  that  he  had  been  so 
anxious  to  get  Fanny,  and  for  this  that  he  carried 
her  off  forcibly,  although  his  agency  in  .the  matter 
did  not  appear.  He  then  related  how,  in  the  sale, 
he  became  the  real  purchaser ; and  how,  afterward, 
the  tract,  as  coal  land,  was  sold  to  a company  for 
nearly  a hundred  thousand  dollars. 

44  But  Edward,”  said  Jasper,  as  he  concluded  his 
humiliating  narrative,  44 1 am  worse  off  to-day  than 
if  I had  never  made  this  transaction.  It  gave  me 
a large  amount  of  capital  for  trade  and  speculation, 
but  it  also  involved  me  in  connections,  and  led  me 
into  schemes  for  money-making,  that  have  wellnigh 
proved  n\y  ruin.  In  all  truth,  I am  not,  this  day, 


202 


TRUE  RICHES  ; OR, 


worth  one-half  of  what  I received  for  that  pro* 
perty.” 

Jasper  ceased  speaking  ; but  astonishment  kept 
Claire  silent. 

“And  now,  Edward,”  resumed  the  former,  “I 
am  ready  to  make  restitution  as  far  as  in  my  power 
lies.  You  can  drag  me  into  court,  and  thus  blast 
my  reputation  ; or,  you  can  obtain  for  Miss  Elder 
as  much,  or  even  more,  than  you  would  probably 
get  by  law — for,  if  driven  into  the  courts,  I will 
contend  to  the  last  moment — through  an  amicable 
arrangement.  Which  course  are  you  disposed  to 
take  ?” 

“ I have  no  desire  to  harm  you,  Mr.  Jasper — none 
in  the  world.  If  the  terms  of  settlement  which  you 
may  offer  are  such  as,  under  all  the  circumstances, 
I feel  justified  in  accepting,  I will  meet  your  wishes. 
But  you  must  bear  in  mind  that*  in  this  matter,  I 
am  not  acting  for  myself.” 

“ I know — but  your  judgment  of  the  case  must 
determine.” 

“ True — and  in  that  judgment  I will  endeavour 
to  hold  an  equal  balance.” 

The  two  men  now  retired  from  the  lawyer’s  office ; 
and,  ere  parting,  arranged  a meeting  for  that  even- 
ing at  the  store  of  Jasper,  where  they  could  be  en- 
tirely alone.  For  two  or  three  successive  evenings 
these  conferences  were  continued,  until  Claire  was 
entirely  satisfied  that  the  merchant’s  final  offer  to 
transfer  to  the  possession  of  Fanny  Elder  four 
houses,  valued  at  five  thousand  dollars  each,  in  full 
settlement  of  her  father’s  estate,  was  the  very  best 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


203 


he  could  do ; and  far  more  than  he  would  probably 
obtain  if  an  appeal  were  made  to  the  law. 

As  quickly  as  this  transfer  could  be  made,  it  was 
done.  Not  until  the  long-desired  documents,  vouch- 
ing for  the  equitable  settlement  of  the  estate,  were 
ii  Jasper’s  hands,  did  he  breathe  freely^  Oh! 
through  what  an  ordeal  he  had  passed.  Ilow  his 
own  pride,  self-consequence,  and  self-sufficiency  had 
been  crushed  out  of  him  ! And  not  only  in  spirit 
was  he  humbled  and  broken.  In  his  anxiety  to  set- 
tle up  the  estate  of  Mr.  Elder,  and  thus  get  the 
sword  that  seemed  suspended  over  his  head  by  a 
single  hair,  removed,  he  had  overstepped  his  abili- 
ty. The  houses  referred  to  were  burdened  with  a 
mortgage  of  nearly  ten  thousand  dallars ; this  had, 
of  course,  to  be  released ; and,  in  procuring  the 
money  therefor,  he  strained  to  the  utmost  his  credit, 
thus  cutting  off  important  facilities  needed  in  his 
large,  and  now  seriously  embarrassed  business. 

It  is  the  last  pound  that  breaks  the  camel’s  back. 
This  abstraction  of  money  and  property  took  away 
from  Jaspej*  just  what  he  needed  to  carry  him  safe- 
ly through  a period  of  heavy  payments,  at  a time 
when  there  was  some  derangement  in  financial  cir 
cles.  In  less  than  a month  from  the  time  he  settled 
ihe  estate  of  Reuben  Elder,  the  news  of  his  failure 
startled  the  business  community.  lie  went  down 
with  a heavy  plunge,  and  never  again  rose  to  the 
surface.  His  ruin  wtls  complete.  He  had  trusted 
in  riches.  Gold  ^as  his  god;  and  the  idol  had 
mocked  him. 


204 


TRUE  riches;  or, 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

P>eyoxd  what  has  already  been  written,  there  ii 
nut  much,  in  the  histories  of  those  whom  we  have 
introduced,  to  be  told,  except  briefly,  worthy  the 
reader’s  interested  attention. 

Martin,  the  old  accomplice  of  Jasper,  finding  his 
power  over  that  individual  gone,  and  failing  in  the 
card  he  played  against  Claire’s  nice  sense  of  honour 
and  integrity  of  purpose,  now  turned,  like  an  ill-na- 
tured, hungry  cur,  and  showed  his  teeth  to  the  man 
through  whose  advice  he  had  so  long  been  able  to 
extort  money  from  Jasper.  He  felt  the  less  com- 
punction in  so  doing,  from  the  fact  that  Grind,  an- 
gry with  him  for  having  been  the  agent  of  Jasper’s 
final  destruction,  which  involved  him  in  a severe  loss, 
had  expressed  himself  in  no  measured  terms — had, 
in  fact,  lashed  him  with  most  bitter  and  opprobrious 
words. 

Several  times,  during  the  progress  of  events  briefly 
stated  in  the  concluding  portions  of  the  last  chapter, 
Martin  had,  in  his  frequent  visits  to  the  lawyer, 
hinted,  more  or  less  remotely,  at  his  great  need  of 
money.  But  to  these  intimations,  Grind  never  gave 
the  slightest  response.  At  last  the  man  said 
boldly — 

u Mr.  Grind,  you  must  help  me  to  a little  mo- 
ney." This  was  directly  after  the  failure  of  Jas» 
per. 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


205 


“I  cannot  do  it,”  was  the  unequivocal  reply 
You  have,  by  your  miserable  vindictiveness,  ruined 
Jasper,  after  having  subsisted  on  him  for  years — 
a base  return  for  all  you  owe  him — and,  in  doing  so, 
half  destroyed  me.  You  have  killed  the  goose  that 
laid  the  golden  egg,  and  there  is  no  one  but  yourself 
to  thank  for  this  folly.” 

“ You  must  help  me,  Mr.  Grind,”  said  Martin, 
his  brows  knitting,  and  the  muscles  of  his  lips  grow- 
ing rigid.  “ You  had  a hand  in  that  business  as  well 
as  Jasper  ; you  took  a big  slice,  if  he  did  keep  the 
major  part  of  the  loaf ; and  so  I have  a right  to  ask 
some  slight  return  for  important  service  rendered.” 

“ What ! This  to  me  !”  exclaimed  Grind,  roused 
to  instant  excitement. 

“ This  to  you,”  was  the  cool,  deliberate  answer. 

“You  have  mistaken  your  man,”  returned  tin 
lawyer,  now  beginning  to  comprehend  Martin  mora 
thoroughly.  “I  understand  my  whole  relation  to 
this  affair  too  well  to  be  moved  by  any  attempt  at 
extortion  which  you  can  make.  But  I can  tell  you 
a little  secret,  which  it  may  be  interesting  for  you 
to  know.” 

“What  is  it  ?”  growled  the  man. 

“ Why,  that  I hold  the  power  to  give  you  a term 
in  the  State’s  prison,  whenever  I may  happen  to  feel 
inclined  that  way.” 

“ Indeed  !”  Martin  spoke  with  a cold,  defiant 
sneer. 

“I  am  uttering  no  vague  threat.  From  the  be- 
ginning, I have  kept  this  trap  over  you,  ready  to 
spring,  if  need  be,  at  a moment’s  warning.” 

“ I suppose  you  thought  me  a poor  fool,  did  you 

18 


206 


true  riches;  or, 


not  V*  said  Martin  as  coldly  and  contemptuously  as 
before.  “ But  you  were  mistaken.  I have  not 
been  altogether  willing  to  trust  myself  in  your 
hands,  without  good  advice  from  a limb  of  the  law 
quite  as  shrewd  as  yourseli.” 

“What  do  you  mean?”  exclaimed  Grind,  somo 
what  startled  by  so  unexpected  a declaration. 

“Plainly,”  was  answered,  “while  I took  your  ad- 
vice as  to  the  surest  way  to  act  upon  Jasper,  I con- 
sulted another  as  to  the  means  of  protecting  myself 
from  you,  if  matters  ever  came  to  a pinch.” 

“Oh!  Preposterous!”  Grind  forced  a laugh. 
“ That’s  only  an  afterthought.” 

“Is  it.  Hark!”  Martin  bent  close  to  his  ear, 
and  uttered  a few  words  in  an  undertone.  Grind 
started  as  if  stung  by  a serpent. 

“Wretch!” 

“ It  is  useless  to  call  ill  names,  my  friend.  I have 
you  in  my  power;  and  I mean  to  keep  you  there. 
But  I shall  not  be  very  hard  on  you.  So,  don’t  look 
so  awfully  cut  down.” 

For  once  the  scheming,  unscrupulous  lawyer  found 
himself  outwitted.  His  tool  had  proved  too  sharp 
for  him.  Without  a doubt  he  was  in  his  power  to  an 
extent  by  no  means  agreeable  to  contemplate.  Grind 
now  saw  that  conciliation  was  far  better  than  anta- 
gonism. 

When  Martin  retired  from  the  lawyer’s  office,  he 
had  in  his  pocket  a check  for  two  hundred  dollars, 
while  behind  him  was  left  his  solemn  pledge  to  leave 
the  city  for  New  Orleans  the  next  day.  The  pledge, 
when  given,  he  did  not  intend  to  keep ; and  it  was 
not  kept,  as  Grind  soon  afterward  learned,  to  his 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


207 


Borrow.  A drunkard  and  a gambler,  it  did  not  take 
Martin  long  to  see  once  more  the  bottom  of  his 
purse.  Not  until  this  occurred  did  he  trouble  the 
lawyer  again.  Then  he  startled  him  with  a second 
visit,  and,  after  a few  sharp  words,  came  off  with 
another  check,  though  for  a less  amount. 

And  for  years,  leech-like,  Martin,  sinking  lower 
and  lower  all  the  time,  continued  his  adhesion  to  the 
lawyer,  abstracting  continually,  but  in  gradually 
diminishing  sums,  the  money  needed  for  natural  life 
and  sensual  indulgence,  until  often  his  demands  went 
not  above  a dollar.  Grind,  reluctantly  as  he  yielded 
to  these  demands,  believed  it  wiser  to  pay  them  than 
to  meet  the  exposure  Martin  had  it  in  his  power  to 
make.  And  so  it  went  on,  until,  one  day,  to  his  in- 
expressible relief,  Grind  read  in  the  morning  papers 
an  account  of  the  sudden  and  violent  death  of  his 
enemy.  His  sleep  was  sounder  on  the  night  that 
followed  than  it  had  been  for  a long,  long  time. 

Of  Edward  Claire,  and  his  happy  family — not 
happy  merely  from  an  improved  external  condition, 
for  the  foundation  of  their  happiness  was  laid  in  a 
deeper  ground — we  have  not  much  to  relate. 

When  Claire  brought  to  Fanny  the  title-deeds  of 
the  property  which  he  had  recovered  from  Jasper, 
she  pushed  them  back  upon  him,  saying,  as  she 
did  so — 

“Keep  them,  father — keep  them.  All  is  yours.** 

“No,  my  dear  child,”  replied  Claire,  seriously, 
yet  with  tenderness  and  emotion,  “ all  is  not  mine. 
All  is  yours.  This  property,  through  a wise  Provi- 
dence, has  come  into  your  possession.  I have  no 
right  to  it  ” 


208 


TRUE  RICHES,  OR, 


u 


If  it  is  mine,  father,”  said  Fanny,  “have  I not 
a right  to  do  with  it  what  I please?” 

“In  a certain  sense  you  have.” 

“ Then  I give  it  all  to  you — you,  my  more  than 
father !” 

“For  such  a noble  tender,  my  dear  child,  I thank 
you  in  the  very  inmost  of  my  heart.  But  I cannot 
accept  of  it,  Fanny.” 

“Why  not,  father?  Why  not?  You  have  be- 
stowed on  me  more  than  wealth  could  buy  ? I know 
something  of  what  you  have  borne  and  suffered  for 
me.  Your  health,  now  impaired,  was  broken  for 
me.  Oh,  my  father  ! can  I ever  forget  that  ? Can  I 
ever  repay  you  all  I owe  ? Were  the  world’s  wealth 
mine,  it  should  be  yours.” 

Overcome  by  her  feelings,  Fanny  wept  for  some 
time  on  the  breast  of  him  she  knew  only  as  her 
father ; and  there  the  interview  dosed  for  the  time. 

Soon  after  it  was  renewed ; and  the  occasion  of 
this  was  an  advantageous  business  offer  made  to 
Claire  by  Mr.  Melleville,  if  he  could  bring  in  a ca- 
pital of  twelve  thousand  dollars.  Two  of  the  houses 
received  from  Jasper,  with  some  stocks,  were  sold  to 
furnish  this  capital,  and  Claire,  after  his  long  strug- 
gle, found  himself  in  a safe  and  moderately  profitable 
business;  and,  what  was  more,  with  a contented  and 
thankful  spirit.  Of  what  treasures  was  he  possessed  ? 
Treasures  of  affection,  such  as  no  money  could  buy ; 
and,  above  all,  the  wealth  of  an  approving  con- 
science. 

Mrs.  Claire — happy  wife  and  mother ! — how  large 
too  was  her  wealth.  From  the  begmnmg  she  had 
possessed  the  riches  which  have  no  wings — spiritual 


WEALTH  WITHOUT  WINGS. 


209 


riches,  that  depend  on  no  worldly  changes , laid  up 
in  the  heaven  of  her  pure  mind,  where  moth  could 
not  corrupt,  nor  thieves  break  through  and  steal. 
The  better  worldly  fortune  that  now  came  added  to 
her  happiness,  because  it  afforded  the  means  of  giv- 
ing to  their  children  higher  advantages,  and  pro- 
cured for  them  many  blessings  and  comforts  to  which 
they  "were  hitherto  strangers. 

Five  years,  passed  under  an  almost  cloudless  sky, 
succeeded,  and  then  the  sweet  home  circle  was  broken 
by  the  withdrawal  of  one  whose  presence  made  per- 
petual sunshine.  One  so  good,  so  lovely,  so  fitted 
in  every  way  to  form  the  centre  of  another  home  cir- 
cle as  Fanny  Elder,  could  hardly  remain  un  wooed  or 
unwon.  Happily,  in  leaving  the  paternal  haven, 
her  life-boat  was  launched  on  no  uncertain  sea.  The 
character  of  her  husband  was  based  on  those  sound, 
religious  principles,  which  regard  justice  to  man  as 
the  expression  of  love  to  God. 

A few  weeks  after  the  husband  of  Fanny  had 
taken  his  lovely  young  wife  to  his  own  home,  Claire 
waited  upon  him  for  the  purpose  of  making  a formal 
transfer  of  his  wife’s  property, 

“ There  are  four  houses,”  said  Claire,  in  describ- 
ing the  property;  “ besides  twelve  thousand  dollars 
which  I have  in  my  business.  A portion  of  this 
latter  I will  pay  over ; on  the  balance,  while  it  re- 
mains”— — 

“ Mr.  Claire,”  returned  the  young  man,  interrupt- 
ing him,  u the  house  you  now  live  in,  Fanny  says,  is 
your  property — also  the  capital  in  your  business.” 

64  No — no — no.  This  is  not  so.  I do  not  want, 
and  I will  not  keep  a dollar  of  her  patrimony.” 

18* 


210 


TRUE  RICHES. 


“ You  are  entitled  to  every  thing,  in  good  right/* 
said  the  young  man,  smiling.  “ But  we  will  consent 
to  take  one-half  as  a good  start  in  life.” 

“But,  my  dear  sir” 

We  vrill  not,  however,  record  the  arguments,  af- 
firmations, protestations,  etc.,  made  by  each  party  in 
this  contention,  but  drop  the  curtain,  and  leave  the 
reader  to  infer  the  sequel.  He  cannot  go  very  far 
wide  of  the  truth. 


THE  END. 


flmSOTTRD  BT  L.  JOHNSON  AK»  CO. 
ypUPBJHIi. 


SHADOWS  AND  SUNBEAMS. 


By  T.  S.  ARTHUR. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year,  1859,  by 
DUANE  RULISON, 

la  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  aad 
for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


PHILADELPHIA  . 

STEREOTYPED  BY  S.  A.  GEOR«lt 
607  SAHSOM  STREET 


% SStarir  foitjj  % $eakr. 


ArfE  you  under  a cloud,  reader?  Or,  does  the 
sunshine  lie  broad  on  your  summer  way?  If  the 
shadows  are  thick  around  you,  fear  not,  faint  not, 
falter  not — the  sun  is  bright  as  ever  in  the  heavens 
above,  and  the  cloudy  curtains  will,  ere  long,  be 
drawn  aside ; but,  if  all  is  brightness  and  beauty, 
walk  not  onward  too  confidently,  for  shadows  as 
well  as  sunbeams  are  on  every  path  of ‘life,  and 
yours  vii  11  be  no  exception.  Yet,  bear  this  in  mind ; 
we  make,  in  nearly  all  cases,  our  own  shadow  and 
our  own  sunlight.  If  we  were  wise  and  good,  no 
clouds  would  obscure  our  firmament ; it  is  from  our 
ignorance  and  selfishness  that  the  murky  exhala- 
tions arise  which  darken  the  sky  above  us.  Let  us, 
then,  seek  for  heavenly  Wisdom,  and  she  will  take 

us  by  the  hand  and  lead  us  on  to  Goodness.  The 

5 


6 


PKEFACE. 


way  in  which  we  go,  having  Wisdom  for  a guide, 
will  be  darkened  by  few  shadows,  and  these  will 
grow  fewer  and  feebler  with  every  advancing  foefc* 


CONTENTS 


PAQI 

The  Cot  i*  »rteur 9 

Worse  Enemies  than  Lions  and  Tigers 18 

A Lesson  from  the  Bees 27 

The  Broken  Heart 34 

The  Lone  Old  Man 89 

A New  Experience  in  Life 103 

The  Little  Maid  of  All  Work 118 

Look  at  the  Bright  Side 131 

What  Happened  to  Joe  Barker 142 

One  of  the  Solvent  Class 162 

The  Coquette 185 

Mr.  Winkleman  at  Home 19* 

The  Man  and  the  Demon 20’ 

V v X 


7 


SHADOWS  AND  SUNBEAMS. 


THE  COLPORTEUR. 

“ Which  way,  stranger?”  said  a rough-looking 
farmer,  to  a man  who  was  carrying  a well-filled  va- 
lise. The  latter  was  in  the  act  of  raising  the  latch 
of  a gate,  which  opened  from  the  public  road  into  a 
narrow  lane  leading  to  a small  country-house  of  no 
very  inviting  aspect. 

The  person  thus  addressed  turned  and  fixed  a 
pair  of  mild,  yet  steady  and  penetrating  eyes,  upon 
the  speaker. 

“Which  way,  stranger?”  was  repeated,  though 
in  modified  and  more  respectful  tones. 

“Who  lives  there?”  said  the  stranger,  pointing 
to  the  house  just  in  view  from  the  road. 

“Dick  Jones,”  was  answered. 

“What  kind  of  a man  is  he?”  next  inquired  tho 
stranger. 

“Rather  a hard  case.  You’d  better  not  go 
there.” 

“Why?” 

“Aint  you  the  man  that  sells  Bibles  and  talks 
religion  ?” 

“Suppose  I am?” 


10 


THE  COLPORTEUR. 


‘Take  a friend’s  advice  then,  and  keep  away 
from  Dick  Jones.  He’ll  insult  you — may  be,  do 
worse.” 

“I  reckon  not,”  replied  the  colporteur,  for  such 
he  was. 

“ He  will,  as  sure  as  fate.  I’ve  heard  him  say, 
over  and  over  again,  that  if  one  of  you  Bible-sellers 
dared  to  come  inside  of  his  gate,  he’d  set  his  dogs 
on  you.  And  he’s  just  the  man  to  keep  his  word. 
So,  take  a friend’s  advice,  and  let  him  alone.  No 
good  will  come  of  it.” 

“Has  he  a wife  and  children?”  inquired  the  col- 
porteur. 

“A  wife  and  two  little  boys.” 

“What  kind  of  a woman  is  his  wife?” 

“Oh,  she’ll  do  well  enough.  But  neighbours 
don’t  go  there  much  on  account  of  her  husband, 
who  is  a very  imp  of  Satan,  if  the  truth  must  be 
spoken.” 

“Like  the  blessed  Master,”  was  replied  to  this, 
“I  come  not  to  call  the  righteous,  but  sinners  to  re- 
pentance. Of  all  things  in  the  world,  the  Bible  is 
most  needed  at  Dick  Jones’s;  and  I am  bound  to 
place  one  there.” 

“Oh,  very  well.  Follow  your  own  bent,”  said 
the  farmer,  slightly  annoyed  at  the  other’s  perti- 
nacity. “You’ll  remember  that  I warned  you, 
when  his  dogs  are  at  your  heels  or  his  horsewhip 
over  your  shoulders.  So,  good  morning  to  you.” 

“Good  morning,”  returned  the  stranger,  cheer- 
fully, as  he  threw  open  the  ill-hung  gate,  and  en- 
tered the  forbidden  grounds  of  Dick  Jones. 

Now,  our  brave  friend,  the  colporteur,  was  not  a 


THE  COLPORTEUR. 


11 


Btroug,  robust  man,  able  to  meet  and  resist  physical 
violence.  In  the  use  of  carnal  weapons  he  had  no  • 
skill.  But  he  had  a confident  spirit,  a strong  heart, 
and,  above  all,  an  unwavering  confidence  in  the  pro- 
tecting power  of  Him  in  whose  service  he  was  de- 
voting his  life. 

Even  on  the  grounds  of  Dick  Jones  the  birds 
sang  sweetly,  the  cool  breezes  sported  amid  the 
leafy  branches,  and  the  breaths  of  a thousand 
flowers  mingled  their  fragrance  on  the  air;  and, 
even  as  the  colporteur  trod  these  grounds,  he  felt 
and  enjoyed  the  tranquil  beauty  and  peace  of  na-, 
ture.  There  was  no  shrinking  in  his  heart.  * He 
was  not  in  terror  of  the  lions  that  crouched  on  his 
path.  Soon  he  stood  at  the  open  door  of  a house, 
around  which  was  no  air  of  comfort,  nor  a single 
vestige  of  taste. 

“ Who’s  there?  What’s  wanted?”  was  the  repul- 
sive salutation  of  a woman,  who  hurriedly  drew  an 
old  handkerchief  across  her  brown  neck  and  half 
exposed  bosom,  on  seeing  a stranger. 

“May  God’s  peace  be  on  this  house!”  said  the 
colporteur,  in  a low,  reverent  voice,  as  he  stood, 
one  foot  on  the  ground,  and  the  other  across  the 
threshold. 

A change  passed  instantly  over  the  woman’s  face. 
Its  whole  expression  softened.  But  she  did  not  in- 
vite the  stranger  to  enter. 

“Go — go,”  she  said,  in  a hurried  voice.  “Go 
away  quickly ! My  husband  will  be  here  directly,., 
and  he ” 

She  paused,  leaving  the  sentence  unfinished,  as" 
if  reluctant  to  speak  what  was  in  her  mind. 


12 


THE  COLPORTEUR. 


“Why  should  I go  away  quickly ?”  asked  the 
stranger,  as  he  stepped  into  the  room,  taking  off 
his  hat  respectfully,  and  seating  himself  in  a chair. 
“I  wish  to  see  and  speak  with  your  husband.  Mr. 
Jones,  I believe,  is  his  name?” 

“Yes,  sir,  his  name  is  Jones.  But  he  don’t  want 
to  see  you.” 

“Don’t  want  to  see  me!  How  do  you  know? 
Who  am  I?” 

“I  don’t  know  your  name,  sir,”  answered  the 
woman,  timidly;  “but  I know  who  you  are.  You 
go  around  selling  good  books  and  talking  religion  to 
the  people.” 

“ True  enough,  Mrs.  Jones,”  said  the  colporteur, 
seriously,  yet  with  a pleasant  smile  on  his  face  as 
he  spoke.  “And  I have  come  to  have  a little  talk 
with  your  husband,  and  see  if  I can’t  get  him 
to  buy  some  of  my  good  books.  Have  you  a 
Bible?” 

“No,  sir.  My  husband  says  he  hates  the  Bible. 
When  we  were  first  married,  I had  an  old  Testa- 
ment, but  he  never  could  bear  to  see  me  reading  it. 
Somehow,  it  got  lost;  I always  thought  he  carried 
it  away,  or  threw  it  into  the  fire.  He  won’t  talk 
to  you,  sir.  He  won’t  have  your  books.  He’s  a 
very  bad  tempered  man,  sometimes,  and  I’m  afraid 
he’ll  do  you  harm.  0 sir,  I wish  you  would  go 
away.” 

But,  instead  of  showing  any  alarm  or  anxiety  at 
Mrs.  Jones’s  account  of  her  husband,  the  stranger 
commenced  opening  his  valise,  from  which  he  soon, 
produced  a plainly  bound  copy  of  the  Bible. 

“How  long  since  you  were  married?”  asked  tho 


THE  COLPORTEUR. 


18 


colporteur,  as  he  opened  the  Bible  and  commenced 
turning  over  the  leaves. 

“ Twelve  years  come  next  May,  sir,”  was  an- 
swered. 

“How  long  is  it  since  you  lost  the  Testament?” 
“Most  eleven  years.” 

“Do  you  go  to  church?” 

“To  church!”  The  woman  looked  surprised  at 
the  question.  “Dear  sakes,  no!  I haven’t  been 
inside  of  a church  since  I was  married.” 

“Wouldn’t  you  like  to  go?” 

“What  ’ud  be  the  use?  I wouldn’t  say  ‘church 
to  Dick  for  the  world.” 

“Then  you  haven’t  read  the  Bible  yourself,  noi 
heard  anybody  else  read  it,  since  you  lost  the  Tes- 
tament?” 

“No,  sir.” 

“You  shall  have  that  blessed  privilege  once  again 
in  your  life,”  said  the  stranger,  raising  the  book 
toward  his  eyes,  and  making  preparation  to  read. 

“Indeed,  sir,  I’m  afraid.  I’m  looking  for  my 
husband  every  minute,”  interposed  the  woman. 
“He’s  always  said  he’d  kick  the  first  Bible-seller 
out  of  his  house  that  dared  to  cross  his  door.  And 
he’ll  do  it.  He’s  very  wicked  and  passionate,  some- 
times. Do,  sir,  please  go  away.  If  I had  any 
money,  I’d  take  the  Bible  and  hide  it  from  him ; 
l ut  I haven’t.  Please  don’t  stay  any  longer.  Don’t 
begin  to  read.  If  he  comes  in  and  finds  you  read- 
ing, he’ll  be  mad  enough  to  kill  you.” 

But,  for  all  this,  the  colporteur  sat  unmoved.  As 
the  woman  ceased  speaking,  he  commenced  reading 
to  her  the  beautiful  chapter  from  our  Lord’s  sermon 


14 


THE  COLPORTEUR. 


on  the  mount,  beginning  with — “Take  heed  that  ye 
do  not  your  alms  before  men  to  be  seen  of  them; 
otherwise  ye  have  no  reward  of  your  Father  which 
is  in  heaven. ” As  he  proceeded  in  a low,  distinct, 
reverential  voice,  the  woman’s  agitation  gradually 
subsided,  and  she  leaned  forward  listening  more  and 
more  intently,  until  all  thoughts  and  feelings  were 
absorbed  in  the  holy  words  that  were  filling  her 
ears.  When  the  colporteur  finished  the  chapter,  he 
raised  his  eyes  to  the  face  of  the  woman,  and  saw 
that  it  was  wet  wuth  tears.  At  that  instant,  a form 
darkened  the  door.  It  was  the  form  of  Dick  Jones. 

“Ha!”  he  exclaimed  in  a harsh  voice.  “What’s 
this?  Who  are  you?” 

Comprehending  now  the  scene  before  him,  Jones 
began  swearing  awfully,  at  the  same  time  ordering 
the  stranger  to  leave  his  house,  threatening  to  kick 
him  from  the  door  if  he  didn’t  move  instantly.  The 
tearful  wife  stepped  between  her  husband  and  the 
object  of  his  wrath;  but  he  swept  her  aside  roughly 
and  with  curses. 

“Go,  before  I fling  you  into  the  road!”  And 
the  strong  man,  every  iron  muscle  tense  with  anger, 
stood  towering  above  the  stranger’s  slender  form, 
like  an  eagle  above  its  helpless  prey. 

How  calm  and  fearless  the  stranger  sat,  his  mild, 
deep,  almost  spiritual  eyes,  fixed  on  those  of  his 
mad  assailant. 

“Bless  the  Lord,  0 my  soul,  and  forget  not  all 
his  benefits.” 

Low  yet  thrilling  was  the  voice  in  which  these 
words  found  almost  spontaneous  utterance.  He 
bad  taken  no  forethought  as  to  what  he  should  say. 


THE  COLPORTEUR. 


15 


Hith  er  he  had  come  at  the  prompting  of  duty,  and 
now,  when  a raging  lion  was  in  his  path,  he  shrunk 
not  back  in  terror,  but  resting  in  a Divine  power, 
moved  steadily  onward. 

“ Clear  out  from  here,  I say  !”  The  voice  of 
Dick  Jones  was  angry  still;  yet  something  of  its 
evil  purpose  was  gone. 

“ The  Lord  is  my  light  and  my  salvation : whom 
shall  I fear?  The  Lord  is  my  strength  and  my 
life:  of  whom  shall  I be  afraid?” 

Neither  loud  nor  in  self-confidence  was  this 
spoken;  else  would  it  not  have  fallen  on  the  ears 
of  that  evil-minded  man  with  so  strange  a power. 

“Why  have  you  come  here  to  trouble  me?  Go 
now— go,  before  I do  you  harm,”  said  Dick  Jones, 
greatly  subdued  in  manner,  and  sinking  into  his 
chair  as  he  spoke. 

The  colporteur,  moved  less  by  thought  than  im- 
pulse, opened  the  Bible  which  had  been  closed  on 
the  entrance  of  Jones,  and  commenced  reading. 
All  was  still,  now,  save  the  low,  eloquent  voice  of 
the  stranger,  as  he  read  from  the  Holy  Book.  The 
wife  of  Jones,  who  had  stood  half  paralyzed  with 
terror  in  a distant  part  of  the  room,  whither  an  im- 
patient arm  had  flung  her,  seeing  the  wonderful 
change  that  was  passing,  stole  quietly  to  her  hus- 
band’s side,  and,  bending  her  head,  even  as  his  was 
bent,  listened,  with  an  almost  charmed  attention  to 
the  Word  of  Life,  as  readrby  the  man  of  God,  who 
had  penetrated  the  dense  moral  wilderness  in  which 
they  had  so  long  dwelt. 

“Let  us  pray.” 

How  strangely  these  words  sounded ! They  seem- 


16 


THE  COLPORTEUR, 


ed  spoken  as  from  the  heavens  above  them,  and  by  a 
voice  that  they  could  not  disregard. 

Brief,  yet  earnest,  and  in  fitting  language,  was 
the  prayer  then  tearfully  made,  and  responded*  to 
with  tears.  When  the  “Amen”  was  said,  and  the 
pious  colporteur  arose  from  his  knees,  what  a 
change  had  taken  place ! The  raging  lion  had 
become  a lamb.  The  strong,  wicked  contemner 
of  the  good,  was  gentle  and  teachable  as  a little 
child. 

Once  more  the  colporteur  read  from  the  Holy 
Book,  while  the  man  and  his  wife  listened  with  bent 
heads,  and  earnest,  thoughtful  faces. 

“Shall  I leave  you  this  Bible?”  said  he,  rising 
at  length,  and  making  a motion  to  retire. 

“If  you  will  sell  it  to  us,”  said  Dick  Jones. 

“It  is  yours  on  any  terms  you  please.  The  price 
is  low.  I have  other  good  books;  but  this  is  the 
best  of  all,  for  it  is  God’s  own  Book,  in  which  he 
speaks  to  his  erring,  unhappy  children,  saying  to 
them,  4 Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labour  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I will  give  you  rest.’  Read  this 
first,  my  friends ; read  it  in  the  morning,  as  soon 
as  you  rise,  and  in  the  evening  before  you  retire. 
Read  it  together,  and,  if  you  feel  an  impulse  to 
pray,  kneel  down,  and  silently,  if  you  cannot  speak 
aloud,  say  over  the  words  of  that  beautiful  prayei 
the  Saviour  taught  his  disciples, — the  prayer  youi 
mothers  taught  you  when  you  were  innocent  chil- 
dren—4 Our  Father,  who  art  in  heaven/  In  a few 
weeks  I will  pass  this  way  again.  Shall  I call  to 
see  you  ?” 

44  Oh  yes  Do  c^ll,”  said  Jones,  his  voice  trem- 


THE  COLPORTEUR. 


17 


bling ; though  it  was  plain  he  struggled  hard  with 
the  flood  of  new  emotions  that  was  sweeping  over 

him. 

“May  God’s  peace  rest  upon  this  house  !”  The 
stranger  stood  with  lifted  hands  and  head  bent 
reverently  for  a moment.  Then,  turning  away,  he 
passed  from  the  door,  and,  in  a few  moments,  was 
out  of  sight. 

A month  later  the  colporteur  came  again  that 
way.  How  different  was  his  reception  at  the  house  g 
of  Dick  Jones ! The  moment  the  eyes  of  the  latter  ' 
rested  upon  him,  it  seemed  as  if  a sunbeam  fell  sud- 
denly on  his  rugged  features. 

“All  is  well,  I see.”  The  colporteur  spoke 
cheerfully,  and  with  a radiant  smile.  “A  Bible  in 
the  house  is  a blessing  to 'its  inmates.” 

“It  has  been  a blessing  to  us,”  said  the  happy 
wife,  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  “ Oh  sir,  we  can  never 
be  done  reading  the  Good  Book.  It  seems,  some- 
times, as  if  the  words  were  just  written  for  us.  And 
the  children  ask  me,  many  times  a day,  if  I won’t 
read  to  them  about  Joseph  and  his  brethren,  the 
three  Hebrew  children,  or  Daniel  in  the  den  of 
lions.  Often,  when  they  have  been  so  ill-natured 
and  quarrelsome  that  I could  do  nothing  with  them.- 
have  I stopped  my  work,  and  sat  down  among  them 
with  the  Bible,  and  began  to  read  one  of  its  beauti- 
ful stories.  Oh,  it  acted  like  a charm  ! All  angel 
would  die  instantly ; and  when  I closed  the  book, 
and  they  went  to  their  play  again,  I would  not  hear 
an  ugly  word  among  them,  may  be,  for  hours.  And 
Richard,  too — ” she  glanced  toward  her  husband, 

who  smiled,  and  she  went  on.  “And  Richard,  too 

2* 


18 


WORSE  ENEMIES 


— I haven’t  heard  him  swear  an  oath  since  vou 

•/ 

were  here ; and  he  isn’t  angry  with  things  that 
fan’t  be  helped  near  as  often  as  he  used  to  be.  Oh 
3 es,  indeed,  sir ; it  is  true.  A Bible  in  the  house 
is  a blessing  to  its  inmates. 

“If  that  were  the  only  fruit  of  my  labour,”  said 
the  colporteur,  as  he  walked  slowly  and  thought- 
fully away  from  the  house  of  Dick  Jones  an  hour 
later,  “ it  would  be  worth  all  the  toil  and  sacrifice  1 
fcave  given  to  the  work.  But  this  is  not  the  only 
good  ground  into  which  the  seed  I am  scattering 
broadcast,  as  it  were,  has  fallen.  God’s  rain,  and 
dew,  and  sunshine,  are  upon  it,  and  it  must  spring 
up,  and  grow,  and  ripen  to  the  harvest.  Let  me 
not  grow  faint  or  weary.” 

And  with  a stronger  heart  and  a more  earnest 
purpose  he  went  on  his  way. 

$ 


WORSE  ENEMIES  THAN  LIONS  AND 
TIGERS. 


“Bad  thoughts  are  worse  enemies  than  lions  and  tigers.” 


Worse  enemies?  Yes,  worse,  a thousand  fold  f 
You  may  keep  away  from  the  path  of  a lion — you 
may  avoid  the  spring  of  a tiger;  but,  if  you  cherish 
bad  thoughts,  a brood  of  stinging  serpents  is  waimed 
life  in  your  bosom. 

iou  hate  that  Erskine?  Well,  who  is  most 


THAN  LIONS  AND  TIGERS. 


19 


injured  by  your  hate?  You’ll  make  him  feel  it! 
He  can  never  know  a tithe  of  the  evil  consequences 
you  will  experience  from  that  bad  passion,  my  friend. 
Have  you  ever  heard  the  old  Spanish  proverb, 
“ Curses,  like  chickens,  come  home  to  roost  ?”  If 
so,  it  were  well  for  you  to  ponder  its  meaning. 

* Perkins  is  an  unhappy  man.  Why?  Is  he  in 
extreme  poverty?  No;  his  basket  and  store  have 
been  largely  increased,  year  by  year.  Is  he  in 
affliction?  No;  the  finger  of  death  hvv  not  yet 
rested  on  any  of  his  household  treasure?,  WThy$i 
then,  is  he  unhappy  ? Because  enemies  to  his  peace 
are  kept  alive  in  Ins  bosom — enemies  that  destroy 
more  than  lions  and  tigers.  Bad  thoughts,  you 
mean.  Yes;  evil  thoughts  against  his  neighbours. 
Poor  man ! he  is  in  the  strange  delusion  that  all 
generous  thoughts  and  kind  deeds  toward  others 
will  be  so  much  abstracted  from  his  own  enjoyment. 
He  does  not  comprehend  the  meaning  involved  in 
the  act  of  lighting  a neighbour’s  candle.  Light  and 
warmth  are  not  diminished,  but  more  widely  diffused. 
Perkins  would  laugh,  sneeringly,  at  the  man  who 
spent  half  an  hour  in  planting  a tree,  from  which  he 
had  no  hope  of  gathering  fruit.  Yet,  while  the 
other  felt  a glow  of  pleasure  in  the  act,  he  would  be 
unhappy  because  a neighbour’s  tree  bore  better  fruit 
than  his  own. 

Such  a man  was  Perkins.  He  rarely  smiled, 
except  at  some  practical  joke  played  off  to  the 
annoyance  of  somebody  he  did  not  fancy.  Any 
thing  like  this,  he  .enjoyed  amazingly.  At  home, 
he  was  usually  a silent,  moody  sort  of  man,  greatly 
annoyed  by  trifles,  and  more  disposed  to  interfere 


20 


WORSE  ENEMIES 


with  his  children’s  sports,  than  to  encourage  play 
fulness  and  hilarity.  Their  noise  and  restlessness 
disturbed  him.  He  loved  his  wife  about  as  well  as 
f a man  like  him  is  capable  of  loving  any  thing  out  of 
himself ; but  he  never  studied  how  to  give  her  plea- 
sure, and  was  easily  fretted,  if,  through  her  neglect 
or  forgetfulness,  his  comfort  were  interfered  with  in 
the  slightest  degree. 

Mr.  Perkins  had  a neighbour  named  Ehrman, 
who  was,  from  some  cause,  particularly  offensive  to 
him  ; and  yet  Ehrman  was  an  unobtrusive  man,  and 
more  inclined  to  think  well  than  ill  of  others.  Per- 
haps this  was  the  very  reason  why  Perkins  did  not 
like  him — for  good  and  evil  are  in  natural  antago- 
nism. It  so  happened  that  the  pleasant  grounds  of 
Perkins  and  Ehrman  lay  side  %by  side.  This  gave 
the  former  occasion  for  much  captious  and  ill- 
natured  observation  of  his  neighbour,  whose  doings 
were  the  subject  of  thought  and  comment  far  beyond 
any  thing  that  he  imagined.  * 

One  day,  in  passing  homeward,  Perkins  called  at 
a neighbour’s,  and  said  to  him,  “ I believe  I’ll  take 
that  yellow  rose  you  told  me  you  wished  to  sell. 
I’ve  been  thinking  since  I saw«you  yesterday,  that 
it  will  just  match  the  one  I have  in  the  oval  grass- 
plat  by  the  front  door,  and  produce  a very  fine 
effect.  Don’t  you  think  so  ? Two  dollars  is  the 
price  you  asked.” 

“It’s  too  late,  now,  Mr.  Perkins,”  returned  the 
neighbour.  “ I sold  it  to  Mr.  Ehrman,  this  morn- 
ing.” 

“ You  did !”  The  countenance  of  Perkins  changed 
instantly. 


* 


THAN  LIONb  AND  TIGERS. 


21 


“Yes;  I understood  you  to  decline  taking  it.” 

“ You  didn’t  understand  any  such  thing  !”  Mr 
Perkins  was  already  partially  blind  with  passion. 

“Beg  your  pardon,”  said  the  neighbour,  with 
very  natural  indignation.  “I  did  so  understand 
you.  And  when  Mr.  Ehrman  called  this  morning, 
and  said  he  would  like  to  have  it  for  the  rosery  he 
was  making  in  front  of  his  house,  I sold  it  to  him 
without  a thought  of  your  desiring  to  possess  it.” 

“ He’s  making  a rosery,  is  he  ? Humph  ! that’s 
because  I talked  of  it.” 

“ I don’t  know  any  thing  about  that,  Mr.  Perkins 
Though  it’s  my  opinion  that  Mr.  Ehrman  never 
heard  of  your  intention.” 

“ Well,  I know  that  he  has  heard  of  it.  He 
couldn’t  have  helped  knowing  my  purpose,  because 
I spoke  of  it  to  half  a dozen  people.  And  he  knew 
I wanted  this  very  rose.  But  he’ll  be  sorry  for 
crossing  my  path.  Now  mark  my  word  for  it !” 

In  this  temper,  Mg,  Perkins  turned  his  steps 
homeward,  his  mind  so  full  of  bad  thoughts,  that 
there  .was  not  room  for  a single  good  one  to  find 
entraifcet 

“ 0 Edward,”  said  Mrs.  Perkins,  as  she  met  him 
at  the  door.  There  was  a smile  of  welcome  on  her 
face,  and  gladness  in  her  tones,  for  she  had  some- 
thing very  pleasant  to  tell  her  husband.  But  th« 
moment  her  eyes  rested  on  his  face,  her  countenance 
fell,  and  she  remained  silent. 

C Not  a word  of  greeting  passed  the  lips  of  Mr. 
Perkins,  nor  did  a single  harsh  line  of  his  rigid  fea- 
tures relax.  Jostling  his  wife  almost  rudely,  as  he 
passed  by  her,  he  went  through  the  house  into  the 


22 


WORSE  ENEMIES 


garden  beyond,  with  the  manner  of  one  who  Lad 
some  desperate  purpose  to  accomplish.  Taking  up 
a spade,  he  returned  through  the  house  to  the  orna- 
^ mental  grass-plat  in  front,  where  stood  a large  yel- 
low rose-bush,  the  buds  of  which  wrere  full  and 
almost  readv  to  break  into  blossom. 

What  is  he  going  to  do  ? Not  destroy,  in  an 
outbreak  of  selfish  passion,  this  beautiful  Hoover, 
because  a neighbour,  whom  he  does  not  like,  has 
become  possessed  of  one  equal  in  beauty?  No; 
not  so  bad  as  that.  He  knows  that  transplanting 
the  other  rose?  at  this  particular  season,  will  check 
its  growth.  If  he  can’t  be  the  owner  thereof,  he  is 
resolved  that  his  rose  shall  be  far  more  luxuriant, 
and  so  means  to  give  it  an  extra  share  of  culture. 
His  purpose  now,  is  simply  to  loosen  the  earth  about 
the  roots,  so  that  sun,  air,  and  dew  may  penetrate 
more  freely.  This  he  designs  doing  daily,  and,  by 
all  human  means,  to  incite  it  to  a more  vigorous 
growth. 

“ What  are  you  going  to  do,  papa  ? What  are 
you  going  to  do  ?”  asks  a sunny-haired  child,  com- 
ing close  after  her  father,  who  has  failed  to  give  her 
the  usual  kiss  on  returning  home.  She  is  following 
him  as  much  for  the  desired  kiss,  as  from  a feeling 
of  curiosity  in  his  movements.  A dear,  good  child 
she  is,  and  loves  her  father  with  all  the  tenderness 
of  a young  and  guileless  heart. 

44  Papa  ! papa  !” — her  hand  is  tugging  at  his  gar- 
ment— “ what  are  you  going  to  do  ?” 

“ Go  back  into  the  house  !” 

How  pale  and  frightened  the  d$ar  child  looks ! 
No  wonder.  Was  it  her  father’s" Voice — so  full  of 


m 


?■ 


THAN  LIONS  AND  TIGERS. 


23 


cruel  anger  ? Was  that  dark,  frowning  brow,  were 
those  evil  eyes,  the  brow  and  eyes  of  the  parent  to- 
ward whom  her  pure  heart  wTas  gushing  over  with 
love  ? Alas  ! bad  thoughts  are  worse  than  lions  and 
tigers.  How  ruthlessly  they  destroy  the  gentle,  loving, 
innocent  things  born  of  good  affections  in  the  heart. 
Filial  tenderness — where  is  it  now?  The  lions  and 
tigers  have  destroyed,  or  driven  it  far  away  from 
the  bosom  of  Mr.  Perkins. 

Frightened,  disappointed,  unhappy  child  ! Slowly 
she  goes  back  into  the  house,  tears  falling  like  rain 
over  her  cheeks  and  on  her  bosomj  and  her  little 
heart  almost  bursting  with  sobs. 

And  now,  under  the  excitement  of  his  bad  feel- 
ings, Mr.  Perkins  commences  digging  about  his 
valued  bush.  There ! His  unsteady  hands  have 
made  an  unskilful  stroke,  and  the  largest  and  most 
beautifully  headed  stem  has  been  parted  from  the 
root,  and  lies  a ruin,  with  all  its  wealth  of  bursting 
buds,  at  his  feet ! A moment  Mr.  Perkins  stands, 
as  if  paralyzed;  then,  with  a bitter  imprecation,  he 
flings  the  spade  madly  from  his  hands.  A yell  of 
pain  follows  instantly.  What  now  ? Unhappy 
man  ! The  enemies  he  has  taken  to  his  bosom  have 
wrought,  through  him,  a further  injury.  Poor  old 
Neptune  ! It  is  scarcely  a week  since,  faithful  ani- 
mal ! you  plunged  into  the  river  and  bore  safely  to 
land  the  dear  child  whom  her  father  has  just  driven 
away  with  frowns  and  angry  words ; and  now  your 
master,  who  caressed  you  then  with  grateful  tender* 
ness,  has  broken  your  leg  with  a blow ! 

“ 0 Edward,  Edward  ! That  was  a cruel  act !” 
said  his  wife,  in  a rebuking  voice.  The  unexpected 


24 


WORSE  ENEMIES 


repulse  and  harsh  temper  of  her  husband  had  soured 
her  feelings,  and  now  she  was  moved  by  a hard  and 
accusing  spirit.  “ Thus  have  you  rewarded  the 
noble  saviour  of  our  child  !” 

*' Peace,  woman  !”  was  his  angry  retort;  and  as 
he  spoke,  he  passed  hurriedly  into  the  house.  A 
moment  after  he  returned  with  a loaded  gun  in  his 
hand.  There  was  a loud  rifle  crack.  All  is  still  ! 
With  that  sharp  report  the  poor  dog’s  yells  of 
anguish  died  on  the  air,  for  a leaden  messenger  of 
death  had  entered  his  generous  heart.  Not  in  anger 
was  the  deadly  weapon  aimed ; but  in  sorrow  and 
stern  mercy.  Ah,  what  an  anguish  of  regret  was 
at  the  heart  of  Mr.  Perkins ! How  bitter  was  the 
sorrow  that  overwhelmed  him  like  a flood  ! The 
enemies  he  had  admitted  into  his  bosom  have  already 
done  a sad  work  of  destruction. 

What  gloomy  shadows  rested  on  the  household  of 
Mr.  Perkins  at  the  going  down  of  that  evening’s 
sun!  Usually,  as  the  curtains  of  darkness  were 
drawn  slowly  over  the  jewelled  sky,  heart-rays, 
blending  with  the  clear  lamplight,  made  all  within 
his  dwelling  brighter  even  than  when  daylight  was 
abroad.  But  there  were  no  heart-rays  to  go  forth 
on  that  evening ; and  the  lamp  burned  low  and 
feeble,  unable  to  disperse  the  enshrouding  darkness 
that  fell  on  every  spirit  like  a pall. 

For  more  than  half  the  night,  Mr.  Perkins  lay 
awake,  striving  in  vain  to  steep  his  senses  in  for 
getfulness^ — striving,  in  vain  to  banish  thoughts  that 
deeply  disturbed ' him  ^th  their  unwelcome  presence. 
Much  as  he  suffered  from  self-condemnation — much 
as  he  blamed  himself  for  .the  unkind  spirit  he  had 


THAN  LIONS  AND  TIGERS 


25 


displayed  toward  his  family — he  did  not  in  the  least 
soften  toward  Mr.  Ehrman,  whom  he  regarded  as 
the  real  cause  of  all  the  unhappy  events  of  the  pre- 
vious day.  It  was  perfectly  plain  to  him  that  this 
“ miserable  fellow, ” as  he  mentally  called  Ehrman, 
had  heard  of  his  desire  to  possess  the  yellow  rose, 
and  meanly  anticipated  him  in  its  possession. 

“ I’ll  never  forgive  him  for  that  act,  as  long  as  I 
live,”  he  mentally  exclaimed  more  than  twenty 
times,  as  he  moved,  restlessly,  on  his  pillow  through 
the  night.  “ He’s  the  cause  of  all  that  has  hap- 
pened, and  I’ll  make  him  repent  of  it,  ere  he’s  three 
months  older.” 

Perkins  had  suffered  the  sun  to  go  down  upon  his 
wrrath,  and  when  it  arose  in  the  clear  blue  heavens, 
the  fires  burned  as  fiercely  as  ever.  Still  were  the 
enemies  cherished,  that  had  already  destroyed  so 
much — those  bad  thoughts  which,  quickly  exciting 
kindred  purposes,  produce  evil  actions. 

How  silent  and  gloomy — we  might  almost  say, 
sullen — passed  the  morning  meal,  usually  a season 
of  pleasant  intercourse.  Sleep,  alas  ! had  not  calmed 
the  elements  which  bad  thoughts  had  lashed  into 
unwonted  disturbance.  The  child  was  still  grieving 
for  the  death  of  the  noble  animal  she  had  loved 
since  light  first  dawned  on  her  opening  mind;  the 
mother  grieved  also  for  this,  while  pain  from  other 
causes  oppressed  and  saddened  her  feelings.  Tho 
father  was  angry  with  himself  for  his  half-insane  con- 
duct, but  more  angry  with  his  neighbour  Ehrman  as 
the  cause.  And  all  this  unhappiness  arose  in  con- 
sequence of  letting  a few  bad  thoughts  come  into 
the  mind  ! In  truth,  the  moralist  was  right  when 


26 


WORSE  ENEMIES 


he  said,  “ Bad  thoughts  are  worse  enemies  than  lions 
and  tigers/’ 

‘ Forth  from  his  shadowed  dwelling  went  Mr.  Per- 
kins. No  loving  kiss  or  tender  words  were  left 
behind  him,  as  a blessing  through  the  day  for  the 
loved  and  the  loving. 

Who  is  that  entering  through  the  gate  ? Not  Mr. 
Ehrman,  surely  ! Yes  ; it  is  the  neighbour  against 
whom  Mr.  Perkins  has  permitted  himself  to  cherish 
so  many  bad  thoughts  and  angry  feelings.  There 
is  a manly  unconsciousness  of  wrong  in  his  face,  and 
a pleasant  smile,  that  tells  of  kind  and  neighbourly 
feelings,  about  his  lips.  It  is  in  the  heart  of  Mr. 
Perkins  to  insult  him  with  words  of  bitter  denuncia- 
tion. But  a certain  self-respect  and  regard  for 
appearances  restrain  him.  The  most  that  he  accords 
is  a cold  and  repulsive  civility,  which  the  other  seems 
not  to  notice. 

46 1 did  not  know,”  Mr.  Ehrman  says,  “ until  I 
w^ent  over  to  Mr.  Grant’s  last  evening,  that  you  had 
expressed  a desire  to  have  the  yellow  rose  he  offers 
for  sale.  When  Mr.  Grant  told  me  of  this,  I at 
once  declined  taking  it,  and  have  called  in  this 
morning  to  say  so.  It  will  match  the  one  you  have 
in  the  other  end  of  that  oval  grass-plat,  beautifully; 
and  make  a finer  effect  than  any  thing  I could  pro- 
duce with  it.  Don’t  think  it  will  be  any  disappoint- 
ment to  me,  Mr.  Perkins ; my  heart  is  no  way  set 
upon  it.  Indeed,  at  the  very  time  I was  buying  it 
from  Grant,  I half  regretted  that  you  werenot  the 
purchaser  instead  of  myself ; for  I saw,  a^flkH^ce, 
that  it  was  just  a match  for  yours,  and  u^^^^nnly 
thing  your  beautiful  oval  wanted  to  Imlane  Hie 


- - 


'V 


A LESSON  FROM  THE  BEES. 


27 


arrangement  of  flowers,  and  make  the  effect  perfect. 
So,  consider  the  rose  as  your  own.  As  I come 
home  this  evening,  I will  stop  to  admire  it  in  its 
right  position.  Good  morning  !” 

And  ere  Mr.  Perkins  can  frame  an  answer,  or 
give  it  utterance,  the  kind,  generous,  unselfish 
neighbour,  against  whom  he  has  so  causelessly 
indulged  evil  thoughts  and  envious  feelings,  is 
beyond  the  reach  of  his  voice. 

Header,  we  have  nothing  further  to  relate.  We 
close  abruptly,  and  leave  our  story  and  its  lesson 
with  you.  “ Bad  thoughts  are  worse  enemies  than 
lions  and  tigers.”  We  pray  you  beware  of  them. 


A LESSON  FROM  THE  BEES. 


A murmur  of  impatience  came  from  the  lips  of 
young  Wentworth,  as,  laying  aside  his  palette  and 
brushes,  he  took  up  his  hat,  and,  with  a worried 
manner,  left  the  studio,  where,  with  two  or  three 
young  men,  he  was  taking  lessons  and  seeking  tc 
acquire  skill  in  the  art  of  painting.  He  was  at 
work  on  the  head  of  one  of  Raphael’s  Madonnas, 
and  was,  with  the  warm  euthusiasm  of  a young 
artist,  in  love  with  the  beautiful,  seeking  to  trans- 
fer J&vMs  canvas  the  heavenly  tenderness  of  her 
eyes,  when  a coarse  jest,  from  the  lips  of  a fellow- 
a*red  harshly  on  his  ears.  It  was  this 
disturbed  him  Out  into  the  open  air 


28 


A LESSON  FROM  THE  BEES. 


the  young  man  passed,  but  the  bustle  and  confusion 
of  the  street  did  not  in  the  leas-t  calm  his  excited 
state  of  feeling. 

“A  coarse,  vulgar  fellow!”  he  said,  angrily,  giv- 
ing voice  to  his  indignation  against  the  student.  “ If 
he  is  to  remain  in  the  studio,  I must  leave  it.  I 
can’t  breathe  the  same  atmosphere  with  one  like 
him.” 

And  he  walked  on,  aimless,  but  with  rapid  steps. 
Soon  he  was  opposite  the  window  of  a printseller. 
A gem  of  art  caught  his  eye. 

44 Exquisite!”  he  exclaimed,  as  he  paused  and 
stood  before  the  picture.  46  Exquisite  ! What  group- 
ing! What  an  atmosphere!  What  perspective!” 

“Ha!  ha!”  laughed  a rough  fellow  at  his  side, 
whose  attention  had  been  arrested  by  a comic  print. 
44 Ha!  ha!  ha!”  And  clasping  his  hands  against 
his  sides,  he  made  the  air  ring  with  a coarse  but 
merry  pesl.  He  understood  his  artist  fully,  and 
enjoyed  this  creation  of  his  pencil. 

44 Brute!”  came  almost  audibly  from  the  lips  of 
Wentworth,  as  all  the  beautiful  images  just  conjured 
up  faded  from  his  mind.  And  off  he  started  from 
the  print-window  in  a fever  of  indignation  against 
the  vulgar  fellow  who  had  no  more  manners  than  to 
guffaw  in  the  street  at  sight  of  low  life  in  a picture. 
On  he  moved  fo#  the  distance  of  one  or  two  blocks, 
when  he  paused  before  another  window  full  of  en- 
gravings and  paintings.  A gem  of  a landscape, 
cabinet  size,  had  just  been  placed  in  the  window, 
and  our  young  friend  was  soon  enjoying  its  fine 
points. 

“Who  can  be  the  artist?”  he  had  just  sail  to 


A LESSON  FROM  THE  BEES. 


29 


himself,  arid  was  bending  closer  to  examine  the  deli- 
cate treatment  of  a bit  of  water,  over  which  a tree 
projected,  when  a puff  of  tobacco  smoke  stole  past 
his  cheek,  and  found  its  way  to  his  nostrils.  Now, 
Wentworth  was  fond  of  a good  cigar,  and  the  fra- 
grance that  came  to  his  sense  on  this  particular 
occasion  was  delicate  enough  of  its  kind.  In  itself, 
it  would  have  been  agreeable  rather  than  offensive ; 
but  the  vulgarity  of  street-smoking  he  detested,  and 
the  fact  of  this  vulgarity  came  now  to  throw  his 
mind  again  from  its  even  balance. 

“ Whew !”  he  ejaculated,  backing  away  from  the 
window,  and  leaving  his  place  to  one  less,  sensitive, 
or  capable  of  a deeper  abstraction  of  thought  when 
any  thing  of  true  interest  was  presented. 

“I  will  ride  out  into  the  country,”  said  he. 
u There,  with  nature  around  me,  I can  find  enjoy- 
ment.” So  he  entered  an  omnibus,  the  route  of 
which  extended  beyond  the  city  bounds.  Alas! 
here  he  also  found  something  to  disturb  him. 
There  was  a woman  with  a lapdog  in  her  arms, 
and  another  with  a poor,  sick  child,  that  cried  in- 
cessantly. A man,  partially  intoxicated,  entered, 
after  he  had  ridden  a block  or  two,  and  crowded 
down  by  his  side.  Beyond  this,  the  sensitive  Went- 
worth could  endure  nothing.  So  he  pulled  the 
checkstring,  paid  his  fare,  and  resumed  his  place 
on  the  pavement,  muttering  to  himself  as  he  did  so — 

uI’d  a thousand  times  rather  walk  than  ride  in 
such  company.” 

Two  miles  from  the  city  resided  a gentleman  of 
ta3te  and  education,  who  had  manifested  no  little 
interest  in  our  excitable  young  friend.  To  visit 

a* 


80 


A LESSON  FROM  THE  BEES, 


him  was  the  purpose  of  Wentworth  when  he  entered 
the  stage,  which  would  have  taken  him  within  half 
a mile  of  his  pleasant  dwelling.  He  purposed  to 
walk  the  whole  distance  rather  than  ride  with  such 
disagreeable  companions.  The  day  was  rather  warm. 
Our  young  artist  found  it  pleasant  enough  while  the 
pavement  lay  in  the  shadow  of  contiguous  houses. 
But,  fairly  beyond  these,  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun 
fell  upon  his  head,  and  the  clouds  of  dust  from  pass- 
ing vehicles  almost  suffocated  him.  Just  a little  in 
advance  of  him,  for  a greater  part  of  the  distance, 
kept  the  omnibus,  from  which  the  women  with  the 
lapdog  and  crying  child  got  out  only  a square 
beyond  the  point  where  he  left  the  coach.  The 
drunken  man  also  soon  left  the  vehicle.  Tired  and 
overheated,  Wentworth  now  hurried  forward,  mak- 
ing signs  to  the  driver:  but,  as  the  driver  did  not 
look  around,  his  signs  were  all  made  in  vain;  and 
he  was  the  more  fretted  at  this  from  the  fact  that 
a passenger,  who  was  riding  in  the  omnibus,  had 
his  face  turned  toward  him  all  the  time,  and  was, 
so  our  pedestrian  imagined,  enjoying  his  disap- 
pointment. 

Hot,  dusty,  and  wTeary  was  our  young  artist, 
when,  after  walking  the  whole  distance,  he  arrived 
at  the  pleasant  residence  of  the  gentleman  we  have 
mentioned. 

“Ah,  my  young  friend!  How  are  you  to-day? 
A visit,  I need  not  tell  you,  is  always  agreeable. 
But  you  look  heated  and  tired.  You  have  walked 
too  fast.” 

“Too  far,  rather,”  said  Wentworth  “I  have 
come  all  the  way  on  foot  ’ 


A LESSON  FROM  THE  BEES* 


31 


“ How  so?  Did  you  prefer  walking?” 

44 Yes;  to  riding  in  the  stage  with  a crying  child, 
& lapdog,  and  a drunken  man.” 

“ The  drunken  man  was  bad  company,  certainly. 
But  the  erying  child  and  the  lapdog  were  trifling 
matters.” 

“Not  to  me,”  answered  Wentworth.  “I  despise 
a woman  who  nurses  a lap-dog.  The  very  sight 
frets  me  beyond  endurance.” 

“ Still,  my  young  friend,  if  women  will  nurse 
lapdogs,  you  can’t  help  it;  and  so,  your  wisest 
course  would  be  to  let  the  fact  pass  unobserved : 
or,  at  least  uncared  for.  To  punish  yourself,  as 
you  have  done  to-day,  because  other  people  don’t 
conform  in  all  things  just  to  your  ideas  of  propriety 
is,  pardon  me,  hardly  the  act  of  a wise  man.” 

“I  can’t  help  it.  I am  too  finely  strung,  I sup- 
pose— too  alive  to  the  harmonies  of  nature,  and  too 
quick  to  feel  the  jar  of  discord.  Do  you  know  to 
what  you  are  indebted  for  this  visit  to-day?” 

A.nd  Wentworth  related,  with  a colouring  of  his 
own,  the  incidents  just  sketched  for  the  reader; 
taking,  as  he  did  so,  something  of  merit  to  himself 
for  his  course  of  action. 

“ Upon  what  were  you  at  work?”  asked  his  friend, 
when  the  young  man  finished  speaking. 

“On  the  beautiful  Madonna,  about  which  I told 
you  at  my  last  visit.” 

“Is  it  nearly  completed?” 

“ A few  more  touches,  and  I would  have  achieved 
a triumph  above  any  thing  yet  accomplished  by  my 
pencil.  It  was  in  the  eyes  that  I failed  to  succeed. 
They  are  full  of  a divine  tenderness,  that  only  a 


32 


A LESSON  FROM  THE  BEES. 


magic  touch  can  give  Raphael  was  inspired  when 
he  caught  that  look  from  heaven.  I had  risen,  by 
intense  abstraction  of  mind,  into  a perception  of  the 
true  ideal  I sought  to  gain,  and  the  power  to  fix  it 
all  on  canvas  was  flowing  down  into  my  hand,  when 
the  jar  of  discord  produced  by  that  vulgar  fellow 
scattered  every  thing  into  confusion  and  darkness. ” 
* “ And  so  the  Madonna  remains  unfinished  ?” 
“Yes,  and  I am  driven  from  work.  Here  is  an- 
other day  added  to  my  list  of  almost  useless  days.” 
The  friend  mused  for  a little  while,  and  then  said, 
somewhat  sententiously — 

“You  must  take  a lesson  from  the  bees,  Henry.” 
“ 1 will  hear  a lesson  from  your  lips , but,  as  for 
the  bees” — 

And  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  air  that 
said — “I  can  leaim  but  little  from  them.” 

“Let  us  walk  into  the  garden,”  said  the  friend, 
rising. 

And  they  went  out  among  the  leafy  shrubs  and 
blossoming  plants,  where  butterflies  folded  their 
lazy  wings,  and  the  busy  bees  made  all  the  air  musi- 
cal with  their  tiny  hum. 

“Now  for  the  lesson,”  said  the  young  artist, 
smiling.  “A  lesson  from  the  bees.  Here  is  a 
sprightly  little  fellow,  just  diving  into  the  red  cup 
of  a honeysuckle.  What  lesson  does  he  teach?” 

“ One  that  all  of  us  may  lay  to  heart.  There  is 
honey  in  the  cup,  and  it  is  his  business  to  gather 
honey.  Just  beside  the  crimson  blossom,  and  even 
touching  it,  hangs  an  ugly  'worm,  spinning  out  the 
thread  of  his  winding-sheet;  but  the  bee  did  not 
pass  the  flower,  because  of  its  offensive  presence, 


A LESSON  FROM  THE  BEES. 


33 


nor  will  lie  hasten  from  it  until  he  has  extracted 
the  honey-dew.  Now  his  work  is  accomplished; 
and  now  he  has  passed  to  that  clover  blossom,  which 
his  weight  bends  over  against  the  leaves  of  a deadly 
night-shade.  But  the  poisoned  weed  is  no  annoy- 
ance to  him.  So  intently  pursues  he  his  search  for 
honey,  that  he  is  unconscious  of  its  presence.  Now 
he  buries  himself  in  blushing  rose-leaves,  6 heeding 
not  and  caring  not,’  though  a hundred  sharp  thorns 
bristle  on  the  stem  that  supports  the  lovely  flower. 
And  now,  full  laden  with  the  sweet  treasure  he 
sought,  he  is  off*  on  swift  wing  for  the  hive.  Shall 
we  observe  the  motions  of  another  bee  ? Or.,  is  the 
lesson  clear  ?” 

The  countenance  of  Wentworth  looked  thought- 
fiii,  even  serious.  A little  while  he  stood  musing, 
as  though  his  perceptions  w^ere  not  lucid.  Then 
turning  to  his  wise  and  gently  reproving  friend,  he 
grasped  his  hand,  saying,  with  a manner  greatly 
subdued: — 

“The  lesson  is  clear.  I will  go^  back  and  finish 
my  Madonna,  though  a dozen  vulgar  fellows  haunt 
the  studio.  I will  have  no  eyes  nor  ears  for  them. 
My  owTn  high  purpose  to  excel,  shall  make  me  blind 
and  deaf  to  any  thing  that  would  hinder  my  onward 
progress.  Thanks  for  your  lesson  of  the  bees.  I 
will  never  forget  it.  Like  them,  I will  gather  the 
honey  of  life  from  every  rich  flower  in  my  way. 
Let  the  wreeds  grow  nigh  if  they  will.  I shall  not 
regard  their  presence.' ’ 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  AN  OLD  PHYSICIAN. 


About  the  time  that  Mr.  S , then  holding  a 

Antinguished  position  in  the  fiscal  world,  completed 
h*;<  splendid  mansion  at  Calverton,  near  Baltimore, 
which  now  forms  the  centre  to  the  two  wings  of  the 
County  Almshouse,  I was  summoned  to  attend  a 
cas?e  of  illness  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood. 
The  family,  which  was  highly  respectable  and 
wealthy,  I knew  well  by  reputation,  but  had  never 
before  been  called  in  to  attend  any  of  its  members. 

Mr.  0 , its  head,  was  a retired  merchant,  who, 

during  the  war  of  1812,  had  amassed  a considerable 
fortune,  and  then  retired  from  business.  He  now 
held  the  position  of  president  of  an  insurance  com- 
pany, the  duties  of  which  office  made  it  necessary 
for  him  to  come  to  town  every  day. 

Mr.  0 had  four  children,  two  sons  and  two 

daughters.  One  son  was  in  business  in  this  city, 
and  the  other  was  partner  in  a house  in  Cuba.  The 
daughters  were  both  married;  but  one  of  them  had 
formed  an  unhappy  union,  and  now  resided  at  home, 
having  parted  with  her  husband.  It  was  to  see  her 
that  I was  called  in. 

In  order  to  give  the  reader  a clear  apprehension 
of  all  that  I am  about  to  relate,  it  will  be  necessary 
34 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


35 


for  me  to  detail  with  some  minuteness  a poition  of 
the  previous  history  of  the  family  ; or,  at  least,  so 
much  of  it  as  includes  the  daughter’s  marriage— 
sacrifice , I should  rather  say. 

Mr.  0 was  a proud,  strong-minded,  self-willed 

man,  with  manners  that  could  attract  when  he  wish- 
ed to  attract,  strongly,  or  repel  when  he  wished  to 
repel,  with  equal  force.  He  married  one  of  those 
gentle,  confiding,  sensitive  creatures,  who  will  cling 
to  a man  if  his  love  answers  to  her  own  deep  pas- 
sion as  face  answers  to  face  in  water,  with  an  earn- 
est devotion;  and  who,  if  her  husband  prove  cold, 
arbitrary,  selfish  and  self-willed,  will — cling  to  him 
still , even  though  every  green  leaf  withers  for  want 
of  sustenance,  and  the  branches  that  bear  them  be- 
come sapless. 

Many  years  had  not  elapsed  before  Mrs.  0 

discovered  that  her  life  w7as  to  be  one  of  continued 
endurance.  Her  wishes  were  rarely  consulted  in 
any  thing;  and  if  they  were,  her  husband  was  sure 
to  see  things  in  a light  different  from  the  one  in 
which  she  viewed  it.  He  never  yielded  any  thing  to 
her  views  or  preferences ; in  fact,  he  never  dreamed 
that  he  was  called  upon  to  do  this.  At  his  store 
and  counting-room,  every  thing  moved  on  as  his  will 
directed,  and  his  ends  were  attained  without  ques- 
tion or  hinderance.  Home  was  but  another  quarter 
of  his  dominion,  and  there  he  exercised  his  power  as 
fully  as  in  his  business,  without  it  ever  seeming  to 
occur  to  him  that  another  mind  should  here  share 
in  the  determinations  of  his  own. 

Had  Mrs.  0 been  a woman  of  more  decided 

character — had  her  will  been  stronger — it  might 


36 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


have  been  much  better  for  both  herself  and  family; 
for  there  would  have  been  a reaction  upon  her  hus- 
band’s imperious  temper,  that  possibly  might  have 
led  him  to  reflect,  and  produced  a change.  But,  as 
no  mirror  was  held  up  before  him,  he  could  not  see 
himself  as  he  really  was,  and  remained  unconscious 
of  his  moral  deformities.  In  his  family,  his  will 
was  law.  His  wife  always  submitted,  no  matter 
how  much  was  sacrificed  in  the  effort  ; and  as  his 
children  grew  up,  they  too  soon  learned  their  lesson 
of  submission.  No  matter  what  was  to  be  done,  his 
inclinations,  feelings,  or  preferences  governed  the 
mode  and  the  time.  If  his  wflfe  expressed  a wish 
for  any  thing,  his  assent  or  objection  was  decisive, 
and  its  ground  always  lay  in  his  own  views  or  feel- 
ings. The  process  of  setting  himself  aside,  and 
acting  from  a desire  to  gratify  or  make  another 
nappy,  was  one  of  which  he  had  no  conception. 

Life,  thus  passed,  could  have  but  few  charms  for 
a woman  whose  feelings  were  as  delicately  strung 

as  those  of  Mrs.  0 ; nor  could  life,  under  such 

a pressure,  be  a long  continued  one.  It  is  not, 
therefore,  a matter  of  wonder  that  she  died  early. 
This  event  was  probably  hastened  by  the  circum- 
stances attending  the  marriage  of  her  youngest 
daughter,  Laura,  whose  whole  character  bore  a 
strong  resemblance  to  that  of  her  mother.  Flo- 
rence, the  oldest  of  her  two  daughters,  was  like  her 
father,  and  had,  from  a child  up,  domineered  over 
her  sweet-tempered,  too-yielding  sister.  As  it  is 
to  the  unhappy  marriage  of  Laura  that  I wish  par- 

iicularlv  to  refer,  I will  introduce  at  once  the  cir- 
•/  1 # 

instances  attending  it. 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


37 


Mr.  0 was  an  Englishman.  He  came  to 

America  when  a young  man,  without  property  or 
friends,  and  by  his  own  activity  and  energy  elevated 
himself  to  wealth  and  social  eminence.  In  his  own 
country,  he  had  been  taught  a servile  deference  to 
rank.  When  he  came  to  this,  and  sought  for  em- 
ployment, he  went  with  his  hat  under  his  arm,  and 
cringed  meanly  to  the  man  of  whom  he  asked  a 
situation.  It  was  not  long  before  he  saw  that,  in 
die  United  States,  wealth  was  a thing  to  be  obtain- 
ed by  every  one  who  had  shrewdness,  industry,  and 
energy;  and  he  also  saw  that  the  aristocracy  of  the 
country  was  one  of  wealth — that  money  made  the 
lord. 

Consequently,  as  from  a combination  of  fortunate 
circumstances  he  began  to  amass  wealth,  he  began 
to  be  impressed  with  an  idea  of  his  own  importance, 
and  to  grow  insolent  and  overbearing  to  all  around 
him,  except  the  rich.  Time  went  on,  and  he  became 
an  aristocrat— a money  aristocrat — and  society  ac- 
corded to  him  the  distinction.  A poor  man,  in  his 
eyes,  was  flesh  and  bloq>d,  and  that  was  about  all; 
he  was  a human  being,  but  of  an  inferior  grade. 
So  much  for  the  man. 

When  Laura,  his  youngest  daughter,  was  eighteen, 
her  hand  was  sought  in  marriage  by  the  profligate 
son  of  a wealthy  mercantile  friend  named  Ruffin. 
The  pure-minded  girl  shrunk,  instinctively,  from 
the  young  man’s  addresses.  She  knew  nothing  of 
his  character,  but  his  face  and  manners  had  in  them 
something  that  repulsed  her.  When  he  offered  her 
his  hand,  she  promptly,  and  without  consultation 

4 


88  THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


with  any  one,  rejected  the  offer.  In  this  she  acted 
with  mor^  than  her  usual  decision. 

Surprised,  mortified,  and  indignant  at  this  un- 
looked-for result,  Charles  Ruffin,  in  a spirit  of  re- 
venge, vowed  that  she  should  marry  him — that  he 
would  never  give  up  his  suit  until  he  had  gained  it. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  succeeding  that  upon 
which  he  bad  received  a rejection  of  his  suit,  young 
Ruffin  called  upon  a friend  about  his  own  age,  with 
whom  he  was  on  terms  of  the  closest  intimacy.  To 
him  he  related,  with  strong  marks  of  indignant  feel- 
ing, the  particulars  of  what  had  transpired ; and 
concluded  by  saying  that  he  would  marry  her  in 
spite  of  all  opposition. 

66  No  woman  shall  ever  have  the  pleasure  of  re- 
jecting my  suit  twice,”  replied  the  friend,  with  a 
slight  curl  of  the  lip. 

“No  woman  shall  ever  reject  my  suit,”  said  Ruf- 
fin, passionately. 

“But  you  have  already  been  rejected  ” 

“That  is  to  be  seen.” 

“I  judge  from  your  own  statement.” 

“ I’ll  have  another  to  make  before  long,  and  then 
• you  will  see  whether  I have  been  rejected  or  not.” 

The  young  man  laughed  aloud  as  he  shook  his 
head  and  said: — 

“ It  won’t  do,  Charley.  You  have  had  the  mit- 
ten and  no  mistake.  I did  not  believe  the  girl  ha;I 
so  much  spirit  in  her.” 

Ruffin  felt  too  deeply  chagrined  to  relish  this 
bantering  spirit  of  his  friend.  He  spoke  bitterly  in 
replj? 

•“I  am  not  going  to  give  up  this  matter,”  said  he 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


39 


— * not  that  I care  two  pins  for  the  huzzy,  but  I 
&evev  va ill  forgive  the  insulting  spirit  in  which  my 
honourable  proposal  was  met.  She  shall  yet  re- 
pent it/' 

“ Surely  you  would  not  marry  a woman  in  order 
to  be  revenged  on  her?”  said  the  friend. 

“ You  will  see.  Before  six  months  pass,  she  will 
be  my  wife.” 

“And  then :” 

“Yes,  and  then!  Ah- — — !”  and  the  wretch 

ground  his  teeih  with  a kind  of  savage  delight — 
“And  then  Laura  0 will  repent ” 

“You  could  not  be  guiity  of  conduct  so  cruel 
and  base,”  said  the  friend,  showing  his  honest  in 
dignation  both  in  woid,  tone,  and  expression  of 
countenance. 

“Did  I hear  you  aright?”  asked  Ruffin,  speak- 
ing in  a louder  and  more  excited  voice,  and  look- 
ing with  surprise  and  anger  into  his  companion’s 
face. 

“ I do  not  know,”  was  the  calm  reply.  “I  tried 
to  utter  my  words  distinctly.” 

“ Did  you  say  base V' 

“I  used  that  word.” 

“In  application  to  my  conduct?”  A scowl  was 
on  the  brow  of  Ruffin.  His  friend  looked  steadily 
at  him,  and  replied : 

“ To  your  proposed  conduct,  which  I pronounce 
unworthy  of  you  or  any  man  of  honour.” 

The  only  answer  made  to  this  by  Ruffin,  was  to 
strike  his  friend  in  the  face.  Nothing  short  of  a 
hostile  meeting  could  result  from  this  quarrel.  Such 
a meeting  did  take  place,  and  the  generous,  high- 


40 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


minded  P was  shot  dead  on  the  spot.  The 

sensation  produced  in  the  community  by  this  event 
was  strong.  A hundred  vague  rumours  as  to  the 
' cause  circulated  in  all  directions,  but  only  a very 
few  were  aware  of  the  real  circumstances.  Ruffin 
was  the  challenged  party,  and  this  created  some 
feeling  in  his  favour.  I am  not  sure  that  Laura 

0 had  even  a remote  idea  of  the  nature  of  the 

dispute  from  which  such  fatal  consequences  had 
arisen. 

No  change  whatever  took  place  in  the  social  posi- 
tion of  Charles  Ruffin.  He  was  received  as  freely 
in  all  circles  as  before.  Young  ladies  greeted  him 
wTith  smiles  and  pleasant  words,  and  even  permitted 
his  hand,  wet  with  the  blood  of  his  friend,  to  touch 
their  own.  I went,  occasionally,  into  company  at 
this  period,  and  particularly  noticed  the  manner  in 
which  Ruffin  was  received  after  his  meeting  with 
his  friend,  as  compared  with  what  it  was  before. 
The  difference,  I thought,  marked.  There  was 
much  more  attention  shown  to  him.  He  was  treat- 
ed with  that  kind  of  deference  usuallv  manifested 

•/  * 

toward  those  who  have  done  their  fellows  some 
eminent  service. 

All  this  grieved  and  disgusted  me.  I could  not 
and  did  not  treat  him  as  I had  previously  done. 
My  manner  was  cold  and  formal.  He  may  or  may 
not  have  observed  this.  I thought  he  did;  but 
that  was  of  no  consequence. 

How  little  does  society  do,  by  common  consent, 
to  purify  its  moral  atmosphere!  A man’s  real  cha- 
racter is  rarely  set  off  against  his  wealth  or  family; 
and  so  long  as  this  is  the  case,  virtue  has  no  com- 


THE  BROKEN  HEART* 


41 


mon  protector.  If  a man’s  character  gave  him  en- 
trance into,  or  excluded  him  from  good  society, 
there  might  be  safety  for  the  young,  the  pure,  and 
the  innocent,  within  its  folds.  This  is  not  the  case; 
and  therefore  I care  not  how  tender  may  have  been 
a parent’s  solicitude  for  his  child,  or  how  anxious 
he  may  have  been  for  her  good,  the  chances  for  her 
making  shipwreck  of  happiness  are  fearful  in  num- 
ber. , 

The  remedy  for  this  lies  in  the  adoption  of  a new 
code  of  social  laws,  founded  in  a just  regard  for  the 
well-being  of  the  whole ; a code  that  shall  make 
virtue,  and  only  virtue,  the  passport  to  good  society. 

In  what  Charles  Ruffin  had  said,  he  was  in  ear- 
nest. The  fatal  consequences  of  a quarrel  with  his 
friend  for  having  censured  his  proposed  course  of 
action,  did  not  divert  him  from  his  purpose.  He- 
was  an  evil-minded  young  man,  in  whom  pride  and 
self-love,  long  indulged,  had  almost  foreclosed  every 
virtuous  sentiment,  and  destroyed  every  virtuous 
emotion. 

He  did  not  meet  Laura  0- for  some  weeks 

after  her  rejection  of  his  suit.  During  that  time 
the  duel  had  taken  place.  Laura  had  no  suspicion 
of  the  real  cause ; but  the  fact  increased  the  repug- 
nance already  felt  toward  Ruffin,  and  made  her  re° 
gard  him  with  a feeling  allied  to  horror.  When  he 
approached  her  one  evening  in  company,  at  the 
house  of  a friend,  her  spirit  shrunk  from  him  with 
loathing  and  fear.  His  quick  eye  perceived  this, 
and  it  only  made  him  resolve  more  deeply  that  he 
would  gain  her  hand  in  marriage  at  any  cost.  Con- 
cealing every  thing  under  a calm  exterior,  he  sat 


42 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


down  by  her  side.  She  was  polite,  but  cold.  She 
answered  all  his  remarks  but  briefly,  and  strove  in 
every  way  to  make  the  conversation  so  burdensome 
to  him  that  he  would  abandon  it,  and  seek  some 
more  agreeable  companion. 

But  he  did  not  seem  to  notice  her  reserve,  and 
adroitly  managed  the  conversation,  so  that  little 
above  an  assenting  monosyllable  was  required  of 
her,  and  that  only  an  occasional  one. 

*u  He  can  certainly  maxe  himself  agreeable 
enough,”  she  remarked  to  herself,  when,  after 
sitting  by  her  side  for  half  an  hour,  he  said,  as  he 
arose  and  left  her — 

“ But  *1  forget  that  I must  not  monopolize  all 
your  time  in  this  pleasant  company.” 

“ Pity  that  under  such  an  attractive  exterior  is 
concealed  so  bad  a heart  as  he  must  have,  who 
could,  under  any  provocation,  shoot  his  friend.” 
Laura  sighed,  and  shuddered  inwardly,  as  this 
thought  passed  through  her  mind. 

For  some  months  the  young  man  continued  his 
efforts  to  make  a more  favourable  impression  upon 
Laura’s  mind ; but  he  saw  little  to  encourage  him. 
The  maiden  had  an  inward  repugnance,  that  nothing 
could  conquer.  Her  manner  was  always  reserved 
in  his  presence ; he  never  could  draw  her  out  into 
a conversation.  She  would  answer  the  remarks  he 
made  with  politeness,  but  never  sought  to  prolong 
the  interest  on  any  subject  he  introduced. 

At  length  Ruflin’s  patience  gave  way,  and  he  re- 
solved on  a more  decided  movement ; and  that  was 
to  gain  over  the  father  to  his  side.  He  knew  some- 
thing of  his  strong  will  and  arbitrary  disposition; 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


43 


and  felt  sure,  that  if  he  became  decidedly  in  favour 
of  the  marriage,  Laura  would  be  forced  to  submit. 
In  order  to  accomplish  this,  it  was  necessary  to  make 
some  sacrifices.  The  father  of  Ruffin  was  a mer- 
chant, and  an  old  and  intimate  friend  of  Mr.  0 . 

Ho  had  long  wished  his  son  to  settle  himself  steadily 
down  to  business,  but  had  not  been  able  to  prevail 
upon  him  to  do  so.  An  offer  of  a large  share  in 
his  house  had  several  times  been  made,  but  Charles 
could  not  be  induced  to  accept  of  it.  He  had  stu- 
died law,  and  been  admitted  to  the  bar ; this  en- 
abled him  to  assume  the  appearance  of  a profes- 
sional man,  while  the  purse  of  his  father  rendered 
it  unnecessary  for  him  to  seek  for  or  even  care  for 
business. 

One  day  he  entered  the  old  gentleman’s  count- 
ing-room, and,  after  lingering  about  for  a while, 
drew  him  off  into  a conversation,  and  dexterously 
managed  to  introduce  business  themes,  and  then 
evinced  more  than  usual  interest  in  the  subject. 
The  ice  of  reserve  that  had  for  some  time  existed 
between  the  father  and  son  was  thawed.  Mr.  Ruf- 
fin led  on  the  conversation  to  just  the  point  Charles 
wished  it  to  attain,  and  then  expressed  regret  that 
he  had  not,  at  the  start,  chosen  mercantile  instead 
of  legal  pursuits. 

“It  is  not  too  late  yet,  Charles,”  the  old  man 
said,  promptly. 

“ I am  afraid  of  it,”  replied  the  son. 

“ Why  so  ?” 

“ To  pursue  any  calling  with  success,  requires  an 
education  in  it.  The  merchant  must  go  through  a 
preparatory  course,  as  well  as  the  lawyer;  and 


41 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


neither  can  become  eminent  if  not,  originally,  well 
grounded  in  the  rudimental  science  and  practical 
principles  of  the  profession.  I know  nothing  about 
the  general  laws  that  govern  trade,  and  nothing 
of  the  means  required  to  be  put  in  operation  in 
order  that  these  laws  may  work  out  a profitable  re- 
sult.” 

“No  matter,  Charles,”  said  the  father,  warmly; 
“I  understand  them,  and  will  see  that  they  are 
properly  applied,  until  time  and  attention  give  you 
a practical  knowledge  of  business.” 

“ Do  you  think  I could  ever  gain  it  ?” 

“ I know  you  could !”  was  emphatically  replied. 

“ f feel  more  than  half  inclined  to  accept  of  the 
offe*  you  have  so  often  made  me.” 

“To  take  a share  in  my  business?” 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“Nothing  would  give  me  more  pleasure.  I have 
built  up  a house  that  is  now  honourably  known 
throughout  the  mercantile  world,  and  I feel  a natu- 
ral pride  in  having  its  high  reputation  sustained. 
You  bear  my  name,  and  can  alone  sustain  it  after 
my  death.” 

“And  I will  sustain  it !”  said  the  young  man,  af 
fecting  a generous  enthusiasm. 

“You  take  a weight  from  my  mind,  Charles,”  re- 
turned the  father,  with  undisguised  emotion.  “ I 
had  began  to  fear  that  my  long  cherished  hopes 
would  never  be  realized.” 

In  a week  from  this  time  it  was  announced,  in 
the  newspapers,  that  Mr.  Ruffin  had  connected  his 
son  with  him  in  business,  and  that  the  firm  here* 
after  w'ould  be  Charles  Ruffin  & Son. 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


45 


No  one  congratulated  the  father  on  this  event 

more  warmly  than  did  his  old  friend  Mr.  0 . 

“I  have  been  a little  afraid  of  Charles,”  he  said, 
“but  he  is  safe  now;  the  mercantile  sphere  will  do 
him  good.  It  will  sober  his  feelings  and  concen- 
trate his  thoughts  upon  an  end.  I trust  that  he 
will  make  a prudent  and  enterprising  merchant, 
and  give  strength  to  your  house.” 

“ Time  will  show.  He  has  ability  enough,  and 
will  pursue  whatever  he  undertakes  with  ardour  ” 
“And  you  can  guide  him  to  a safe  result.” 
Charles  Ruffin  settled  himself  down  to  business, 
and  appeared  to  enter  into  all  its  details  wfith  inte- 
rest and  intelligence,  greatly  to  the  delight  of  his 
father.  As  much  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  do, 

he  threw  himself  in  the  way  of  Mr.  0 , in  business 

matters.  It  may  here  be  remarked,  that  the  father 
of  Laura  had  not  been  informed  of  her  rejection  of 
the  young  man’s  suit.  The  maiden  confided  the 
secret  to  her  mother  alone,  and  the  mother  locked 
it  up  in  her  heart.  She  knew  her  husband’s  cha- 
racter too  well,  and  had  suffered  too  much  from  his 
disregard  to  her  tenderest  and  best  feelings,  to 
trust  her  daughter’s  happiness  in  his  hands. 

About  two  months  after  he  had  entered  into  busi- 
ness with  his  father,  young  Ruffin  renewed  his  at- 
tentions to  Laura,  and  in  such  a way  as  to  attract 

the  notice  of  Mr.  0 , who  was  very  well  pleased 

to  observe  it.  He  also  hinted  to  his  father  that  he 
had  more  than  a slight  preference  for  the  maiden, 
and  dexterously  managed  to  get  him  to  allude  to  the 

subject  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  0 . From  that 

time  the  fate  of  the  sweet  girl  was  sealed.  Her 


46 


THE  BROKEN  HEART, 


father  was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  such  a union, 
and  assured  Mr.  Ruffin  that  it  was  only  necessary 
for  Charles  to  offer  Laura  his  hand. 

Never,  from  the  day  of  her  marriage  until  this 

time,  had  Mrs.  0 opposed  her  husband.  Meek 

submission  and  patient  endurance  had  been  her  por- 
tion. But  the  mother  was  stronger  than  the  woman. 
The  love  she  bore  her  child  roused  her  into  resist- 
ance. 

“I  am  pleased  to  find  that  young  Charles  Ruffin 

is  attached  to  our  Laura,’ ’ said  0 to  his  wife, 

one  evening,  after  they  were  alone. 

Mrs.  0 turned  pale  and  trembled.  She  felt 

that  a day  of  deep  sorrow  had  come.  If  her  hus- 
band were  pleased  at  the  discovery,  he  would,  she 
knew,  demand  a marriage,  should  the  young  man 
again  offer  himself,  against  all  that  she  or  her  poor 
child  could  urge.  The  shrinking  repugnance  felt 
by  Laura  wTould  be  as  dust  in  the  balance  against 
his  will.  But  she  could  not  tamely  submit  here. 
She  had  a mother’s  duty  to  perform. 

“ I do  not  think  Laura  would  ever  be  happy  as 
his  wife  !”  she  ventured  to  say. 

“ Why  not,  pray?”  he  asked,  in  surprise. 

“ Their  characters  are  altogether  different.” 

“ So  are  yours  and  mine.” 

Mrs.  0 — — did  not  reply  to  this : thoughts  that 
she  dared  not  let  come  into  distinct  form  flitted 
through  her  mind. 

“I  really  do  not  understand  what  you  mean,” 
the  husband  resumed.  “ A.  better  match  than 
Charles  Ruffin  cannot  be  found  for  her.  His 
family  is  unexceptionable  He  wdl  inherit  a large 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


47 


property  from  his  father,  independent  of  what  he 
will  accumulate  in  his  own  right  as  a partner  in  the 
house  of  Ruffin  & Son.” 

“ It  will  take  more  than  all  that  to  make  Laura 
happy.” 

u What  more,  pray  ?” 

“ A man  whom  she  can  respect  and  love.” 

“ What  is  to  hinder  her  from  both  respecting 
and  loving  Charles  Ruffin?” 

“ She  can  never  love  a man  who  has  stained  his 
hands  with  the  blood  of  his  friend.  But,  apart 
from  this,  she  has  ever  shrunk  with  an  inward,  un- 
conquerable dislike  from  this  young  man.” 

“ Indeed!” 

“It  is  true.  Months  ago  he  offered  her  his 
hand,  which  she  declined  without  consulting  any 
one.” 

“ Laura  did  ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ And  you  knew  it  ?” 

“ After  his  suit  had  been  declined.” 

“ Why,  pray,  was  I not  informed  of  this  ?”  Mr. 

0 spoke  in  an  imperious  tone. 

“ It  would  have  done  no  good.  Laura  is  of  age, 
and  must  decide  for  herself  in  a matter  of  this  kind. 
She  has  all  to  gain  or  lose.” 

“ But  why  was  it  concealed  from  me  ? I cannot 
understand  the  reason.” 

Mrs.  0 — — felt  embarrassed.  To  speak  out 
boldly  and  avow  her  belief  that  he  would  have  acted 
arbitrarily  on  the  occasion,  she  could  not  do.  After 
a few  moments’  silence,  she  replied — 

“ I was  afraid  you  might  not  approve  of  what  she 


TltlS  BROKEN  HEART. 


48 

„ • 

had  done,  and  the  poor  child’s  mind  was  already 
•strongly  agitated.”  , 

“ Humph  ! Approve  ? No,  I should  not  have 
approved.  If  a drayman  had  offered  himself,  the 
; same  kind  of  reasoning  would  have  done  to  excuse 
her  acceptance  of  him,  and  marriage  without  my 
knowledge.  I am  surprised  beyond  measure  at 
your  conduct.  I ought  to  have  known  this  at  the 
time.” 

“It  would  have  done  no  good.” 

“Don’t  say  that  again!”  Mr.  0- returned, 

in  a passionate  tone  of  voice. 

The  eyes  of  Mrs.  0 sunk  to  the  floor.  She 

laid  her  hands  meekly  together,  and  sat  silent.  But 
her  heart  was  strong  in  its  determination  to  oppose 
to  the  last  every,  attempt  made  to  coerce  Laura 

into  a marriage  with^Buffin.  Mr.  0 talked  a 

great  deal,  and  made  many  threats  and  assertions : 
but  to  none  of  them  did  his  wife  reply. 

“Can’t  you  speak!”  he  at  length  exclaimed, 
losing  all  control  over  himself.  Never  before  had 
he  spoken  thus  to  her — never  before  had  he  exhi- 
bited toward  her  such  a temper.  But,  never  before 
had  she  set  herself  in  such  direct  opposition  to 
him. 

The  eyes  of  Mrs.  0 were  lifted  timidly  to 

her  husband’s  face  for  a moment,  while  a tremor 
ran  through  her  frame.  Then  she  let  them  fall 
again  to  the  floor,  and  sat,  still  silent. 

“ The  girl  shall  marry  him,”  said  0 

“Not  with  my  consent,”  replied  his  wife,  in  a 
htisky,  but  decided  voice 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


49 


“ Woman,  are  yon  mad  ?”  exclaimed  her  husband, 
again  thrown  off  his  guard. 

“I  don’t  know  what  I may  have  been  for  the 
iast  twenty  years  of  my  life,  but  I am  sane  now,” 
was  calmly  returned.  44  I love  my  child  too  wrell 
to  consent  to  her  sacrifice.  I am  a mother !” 

Accustomed  to  an  entire  submission  of  his  wife’s 
will  to  his  own,  this  unexpected  opposition  and 
firmness  on  her  part,  while  it  was  unaccountable, 
chafed  his  temper  almost  beyond  endurance ; and 
yet  astonishment  produced  a state  of  calmness. 
He  said  no  more  at  that  time,  but  he  resolved  that 
Laura  should  marry  Charles  Ruffin.  He  had  pro- 
mised the  father  as  much,  and  he  meant  to  keep 
his  promise,  in  spite  of  all  objections  and  opposi- 
tion. 

As  soon  as  the  young  man  learned  the  favourable 

light  in  which  Mr.  0 viewed  the  matter,  his 

mind  was  at  rest  on  the  subject.  He  no  longer  ap- 
proached Laura  with  doubt  and  caution,  but  boldly 
preferred  his  suit  again,  and  was  again  as  promptly 
rejected.  This  was  communicated  to  old  Mr.  Ruf- 
fin on  the  next  morning,  and  he  called  on  Laura’s 
father  immediately,  and  informed  him  of  what  had 
occurred. 

“ It  is  a mere  whim  of  the  girl’s,”  Mr.  0 re- 

plied. 44 1 will  see  her,  and  satisfy  her  that  she 
has  done  a very  foolish  thing.  Charles  must  re- 
new his  attentions.  I have  set  my  heart  upon  this 
maniage,  and  cannot  think  of  its  being  prevented.” 

In  an  hour  afterward  he  entered  his  dwelling, 
and  found  Laura  sitting  in  one  of  the  parlours  alone. 
She  looked  up  at  her  father,  with  a timid,  frighten- 


50 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


ed  air,  for  she  had  reason  to  believe  that  his  return 
home  at  an  unusual  hour  had  something  to  do  with 
her  second  rejection  of  Ruffin’s  suit. 

Controlling  his  feelings  as  far  as  it  was  possible 

for  him  to  do  so,  Mr.  0 took  a seat  beside  his 

daughter,  and  in  a milder  and  more  persuasive  tone 
than  he  was  accustomed  to  speak  in,  said: — 

44  Laura,  my  dear,  what  are  your  reasons  for  de- 
clining so  advantageous  an  offer  as  the  one  made 
you  by  Charles  Ruffin  ?” 

The  maiden  answered  only  by  a gush  of  tears. 
Mr.  0 waited  until  the  strength  of  his  daugh- 

ter’s emotion  had  subsided.  He  then  resumed — 

44 1 have  set  my  heart  upon  seeing  a union  take 
place  betwreen  you  and  the  son  of  my  old  friend, 
and  it  wTould  grieve  me  deeply  were  I to  be  disap- 
pointed. You  certainly  cannot  have  any  very 
strong  objections  to  Charles  ? Why,  then,  do  you 
decline  the  offer  of  his  hand  ?”  * 

44  Father,”  replied  Laura,  looking  steadily  into 
his  face,  and  speaking  with  surprising  calmness,  44 1 
do  not  think  of  death  with  fear,  but  my  spirit 
shrinks  and  shudders  at  the  idea  of  becoming  united 

to  Charles  Ruffin.  Is  not  the  blood  of  poor  P 

upon  his  hands  ?” 

44  And  is  that  your  only  objection  ?” 

44  No,  sir.  I can  never  love  him,  and  I prefer 
death  to  marrying  a man  I do  not  love.” 

44  So  much  for  a girl’s  silly  romance  !”  the  father 
sneeringly  replied,  beginning  to  lose  his  self-com- 
mand. 44 1 wonder  who  put  all  this  nonsense  into 
your  head?” 

Laura  remained  silent 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


51 


“ If  you  will  only  try  and  lay  aside  your  foolish 
prejudice  against  one  in  every  way  worthy  of  your 
highest  regard,”  said  Mr.  0 , changing  his  man- 

ner again,  and  speaking  in  a low,  insinuating  voice 
— “ and  consent  to  a union  we  all  so  much  desire, 
there  is  nothing  I will  not  do  for  you.  Whatever 
money  can  procure,  you  can  command.  I know 
you  will  be  happy.  What  can  prevent  it  ?” 

UI  am  happy  here,  father,”  she  replied,  with  a 
quivering  lip.  “ Why  do  you  wish  to  push  me  out 
like  a young  bird,  but  half-fledged,  from  its  nest? 
My  wings  are  yet  too  weak  to  bear  me  up.  Father! 
if  you  love  me,  let  me  stay  where  I am,  and  remain 
what  I am !” 

“ You  cannot  always  remain  at  home,  Laura. 
You  will  become  a wife,  and  form  the  centre  of  a 
new  home.” 

“ There  is  time  enough  for  that,  if  it  take  place 
at  all,  these  five  years.  I am  but  a child  at  best* 
and  still  wish  to  shrink  beneath  the  shelter  of  my 
mother’s  wing.” 

0 was  unmoved  by  this  tender  appeal. 

“ Consider — — ” he  began. 

“I  can  consider  nothing,”  said  Laura,  interrupt- 
ing him,  with  something  of  indignation  in  her  voice, 
“ that  unites  my  name  with  that  of  Charles  Ruffin. 
A marriage  between  us  is  impossible  !” 

This  broke  down  all  reserve  and  restraint. 

“ Girl ! You  shall  marry  him  !”  passionately  ex- 
claimed the  father. 

Mrs.  0 entered  at  the  moment,  and  heard  in 

grief  and  surprise  the  last  words  uttered  by  her 
husband. 


52 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


“ Oh,  do  not  rashly  say  that !”  she  cried  out  m 
a voice  of  anguish.  “ You  must  not,  you  cannot, 
you  dare  not  sacrifice  your  child.” 

; “ I have  said  the  word,  and,  so  help  me  heaven ! 
that  word  shall  be  fulfilled  to  the  letter.  Laura 
shall  become  the  wife  of  Charles  Ruffin.” 

“ If  you  command  me,  father,  I have  only  one 
thing  to  do,”  said  the  trembling  child,  her  face  pale 
as  ashes. 

“ And  pray  what  is  that  ?”  he  asked. 

“ To  obey”  was  briefly  replied. 

“You  shall  obey!”  angrily  returned  Mr.  0 ; 

and,  rising  from  his  chair,  he  left  the  room  and  the 
house. 

The  moment  the  door  closed  after  him,  Laura 
threw  herself,  weeping,  upon  her  mother’s  bosom. 

Mrs.  0 had  no  word  of-  comfort  to  offer,  no 

word  of  advice  to  give.  All  she  could  do  was  to 
weep  with  her  child. 

In  a few  days,  the  suit  of  Ruffin  was  again  re- 
newed. As  a last  hope,  Laura  appealed  to  his 
generosity  as  a man  not  to  urge  her  into  a marriage 
that  would  make  her  whole  life  miserable.  But  the 
appeal  was  vain. 

As  long  as  the  time  of  the  sacrifice  could  be  put 
off,  it  was  put  off.  But  it  wTas  made  at  last.  It  is 
hard  to  tell  which  suffered  most,  the  mother  or  her 
child,  during  the  few  short  months  that  elapsed  be- 
fore the  consummation  took  place  from  which  both 
shrunk  with  something  like  horror.  The  appear- 
ance and  manner  of  the  bride  occasioned  a good 
deal  of  remark.  It  was  known  that  she  had  twice 
refused  the  hand  of  Ruffin,  and  it  was  also  pretty 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


53 


generally  believed  that  the  marriage  only  took 
place  in  obedience  to  the  father’s  wishes.  No  tears 
were  shed  by  Laura : but  her  mother  wept  as  if  her 
heart  were  breaking — and  it  was  breaking.  Laura 
was  exceedingly  pale,  when  she  came  in  by  the  side 
of  the  man  to  whom  she  was  about  making  false 
vows.  Her  lips  were  strongly  compressed — her 
eyes  looked  inward — she  seemed  like  one  about  to 
commit  an  act  from  which  every  impulse  of  nature 
shrunk.  Mr.  0 — — observed  all  this  wfith  a stern 
expression  on  his  face,  yet  with  an  unbending  de- 
termination to  let  the  sacrifice  be  made.  Charles 
Ruffin  was  fully  conscious  of  the  part  he  was  play- 
ing, and  of  the  impression  made.  For  a moment 
he  felt  abashed,  but  the  recollection  of  something 
reassured  him,  and  he  did  not  hesitate. 

When  Laura,  at  last,  made  the  almost  inaudible 
response  that  sealed  her  fate,  her  mother  sank 
insensible  to  the  floor.  That  overtasked  heart 
could  bear  up  no  longer.  Its  cup  was  full. 

It  was  a sad  marriage-festival.  Mrs.  0 did 

not  recover  during  the  evening,  and  Laura  could 
not  be  forced  from  the  chamber  where  her  mother 
lay  in  a slumber  that  looked  like  death.  When  too 
late,  Charles  Ruffin  saw  that  he  had  pursued  his 
mean  spirit  of  revenge  too  far  ; that  a reaction 
was  about  taking  place,  which  would  punish  him 
severely. 

The  large  and  brilliant  company,  that  had  assem- 
bled to  grace  a marriage-festival,  returned  early, 
with  grave  looks  and  oppressed  feelings,  and  Mr. 
0— — and  his  new  son-in-law  were  left  alone  in  the 
richly  decorated  but  now  deserted  drawing-rooms. 


54 


THE  BROKEN  HEART® 


What  their  feelings  were,  it  is  hard  to  tell.  Few 
words  passed  between  them. 

The  young  husband  did  not  see  his  bride  again 
that  night.  She  could  not  be  forced  from  the  bed' 
side  of  her  mother,  in  whom  few  signs  of  returning 
animation  were  apparent  for  many  hours. 

Morning  dawned  before  the  life-current  again 
flowed  freely  through  the  mother’s  veins.  When 
reason  returned,  she  begged  to  be  left  alone  with 
Laura,  and  the  boon  was  granted.  For  a long  time 
the  mother  and  child  lay  in  each  other’s  arms,  and 
wept  together.  Then  the  former  essayed  to  dis- 
charge what  she  believed  to  be  her  last  duty  to  the 
wronged  spirit  that  was  just  entering  upon  a life  of 
trial  and  suffering. 

“ How  shall  I counsel  you,  my  dear  child  ?”  she 
said,  endeavouring  to  speak  with  calmness — -“how 
shall  I prepare  you  for  the  new,  peculiar,  and  deeply 
trying  relations  on  which  you  are  about  to  enter  ? 
If  I could  have  prevented  your  marriage  with  a man 
you  say  you  do  not  love,  I would  have  done  so ; but 
now  you  are  a wedded  wife,  you  have  taken  holy 
vows  upon  yourself — *a  wife’s  duties  you  must  endea- 
vour to  perform— to  a wife’s  vows  you  must  be  faith- 
ful, even  until  death.  I trust  that  your  husband  is 
sincerely  attached  to  you,  and  that  you  will  not  find 
it  so  hard  as  you  have  feared,  to  return  something 
of  the  regard  he  professes  for  you.  It  may  be  in 
your  power  to  influence  him  for  good,  to  modify  and 
elevate  his  wdiole  character  ; to  make  him,  what  you 
have  not  deemed  him,  ivorthy  of  your  love.  Oh  ! 
how  sincerely  do  I pray  that  this  may  be  the  case ; 
that  the  cup,  now  so  bitter  to  the  taste,  may  beco 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


55 


sweetened  as  life  advances.  Such  things  have  often 
occurred — why  not  in  your  case  ? Lay  your  hand 
upon  your  heart,  my  child,  and  keep  down  all  feel- 
ings of  repugnance ; let  your  whole  demeanour 
toward  the  man  you  have  promised  to  love  become 
changed ; meet  him  to-day  with  a gentle  bearing, 
and  let  his  voice,  if  it  come  to  your  ear  in  words  of 
endearment,  find  its  way  into  some  chamber  of  your 
heart : it  will  be  better,  far  better  ; I know — I know 
it  will  ! He  cannot  but  have  some  true  love  for 
you.  Why  else  has  he  sought  your  hand?  Love 
begetteth  love.  May  it  be  so  in  this  case  !” 

The  words  of  the  mother  sunk  into  the  heart  of 
her  child.  A dim  light  glimmered  through  the 
darkness  in  which  her  spirit  had  been  enveloped. 
She  saw  that  she  had  a duty  to  perform,  and  she 
nerved  hefself  to  perform  it.  She  had  taken  upon 
herself  a wife’s  vows,  and  she  must  not  now  shrink 
from  the  tasks  they  imposed  upon  her. 

After  what  we  have  recorded,  and  much  more  to 
the  same  purpose  had  been  urged  by  the  mother, 
she  sunk  away  into  a quiet  sleep.  For  the  first 
time  since  she  followed  her  parent’s  insensible  form 
from  the  bridal-hall,  Laura  left  the  chamber  where 
she  had  retired.  She  had  not  seen  her  husband 
since  the  hour  when  the  minister,  in  a solemn  voice, 
pronounced  them  man  and  wife ; and  the  thought 
of  meeting  him  made  her  tremble.  But  she  nerved 
herself  under  a newly  awakened  sense  of  duty.  As 
she  stepped  into  one  of  the  parlours — the  same  in 
which  the  nuptial  ceremony  had  taken  place — she 
saw  him  sitting  by  a window,  with  his  head  leaning 
on  his  hand,  in  an  attitude  of  thought,  and,  what 


56 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


seemed  to  her,  dejection.  She  was  touched  by  this, 
and  a single  emotion  of  tenderness  swelled  in  her 
heart.  He  arose  to  his  feet  as  she  entered,  and 
; advanced  a few  steps  to  meet  her.  She  held  out 
her  hand  and  he  grasped  it  with  warmth,  and  made 
earnest  inquiries  after  her  mother.  These  she 
answered,  and  then  came  a silence  that  both  found 
it  hard  to  break.  They  were  in  a false  position, 
and  were  too  clearly  conscious  of  the  fact.  Casual 
and  indifferent  remarks  would  be  out  of  place  ; and 
neither  dared  speak  the  thoughts  nearest  the 
heart. 

Ah ! are  not  these  perversions  of  the  marriage 
state  sad  to  think  of?  All  evil  is  the  perversion 
of  some  good : the  higher  the  good,  therefore,  the 
more  direful  in  consequence  is  the  perversion.  Mar- 
riage is  the  highest  and  holiest  social  state  into 
which  man  is  capable  of  entering ; if  entered  into 
from  right  motives,  it  induces  a state  of  felicity 
beyond  what  any  other  relation  can  give;  if  from 
wrong  motives,  it  will  become  a condition  of  wretch- 
edness beyond  conception.  We  may  pity  the  weak- 
ness that  led  Laura  0 to  consent  to  this  unna- 

tural union  in  obedience  to  the  will  of  her  father, 
but  cannot  in  any  way  commend  the  act.  She  had 
no  more  right  to  obey  in  this  thing  than  he  had  to 
command;  in  obeying  she  was  deeply  culpable,, 
Too  many  consequences  hung  upon  her  free  decision 
of  a matter  of  such  intrinsic  importance.  After  a 
child  has  obtained  the  age  of  rationality  and  free- 
dom, and  becomes  responsible  to  society  and  to  God 
for  every  act,  the  father  who  attempts  control  in  a 
matter  like  this  commits  sin  * and  the  child  who 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


57 


submits  to  and  becomes  a passive  subject  of  such 
control,  also  commits  sin. 

The  true  relation  of  parents  to  children,  is  one  in 
which  all  do  not  exercise  sufficient  discrimination. 
It  is  not  generally  seen,  that  the  parent  is  responsi- 
ble to  society  and  to  Heaven  for  his  child’s  conduct, 
only  until  that  child  is  of  age  and  becomes  capable 
of  making  rational  discriminations  on  matters  per- 
taining to  life.  After  that  period,  no  parent  is 
guiltless  who  attempts  arbitrary  control.  He  has 
still  a duty  to  perform,  but  should  emulate  the  bird 
that  teaches  its  fledgelings  the  use  of  their  wings  in 
performing  it.  He  should  no  longer  think  for  them 
and  decide  for  them,  but  should  guide  their  reason 
to  sound  judgments,  and  be  very  careful  in  doing 
this  not  to  force  the  child’s  mind,  but  merely  to 
help  it  to  a decision  of  its  own.  It  is  this  state  of 
freedom  and  reason  that  makes  the  man.  The  folly 
of  parents  choosing  conjugal  partners  for  their 
children  needs  not  the  painful  history  I am  relating 
to  illustrate  it.  This  is  a folly,  thank  Heaven  ! that 
is  reforming  itself  under  the  influence  of  increasing 
moral  light  and  freedom.  Its  opposite,  or  a care- 
lessness as  to  whom  the  choice  might  rest  upon,  has 
prevailed  already  to  too  great  an  extent. 

The  embarrassed  position  of  the  young  couple 

was  relieved  by  the  entrance  of  Mr.  0 . He 

had,  naturally,  a good  share  of  tact  and  self-posses- 
sion, and  this  enabled  him  to  introduce  subjects  of 
conversation  that  were  calculated  to  lead  their  minds 
away  from  the  present,  and  to  make  them  feel  more 
at  ease.  Laura,  acting  from  a newly  awakened 
sense  of  duty,  strove  to  appear  cheerful;  and  her 


58 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


husband,  glad  to  be  relieved  from  a situation  by  no 
means  agreeable,  endeavoured  to  seem  as  cheerful 
as  she.  But  it  was  force-work  on  both  sides,  and 
r apparent  to  both. 

Thus  began  the  married  life  of  Charles  Ruffin  and 
hi  ^ beautiful  bride.  The  promise  was  not  fair,  and 
the  result  did  not  belie  the  promise.  Many  weeks 
did  not  pass  before  the  heart  of  her  husband  was 
laid  bare  to  Laura ; the  sight  filled  her  with  horror 
and  despair.  The  native  malignancy  of  the  man 
could  not  long  be  concealed — the  end  for  which  he 
had  sought  her  hand  no  duplicity  could  conceal,  no 
acting  disguise.  It  must  come  forth — and  it  did 
come  forth. 

The  meek  patience  of  the  pure-minded  woman  he 
had  wronged,  the  unwearying  efforts  she  made  to 
act  from  duty,  if  not  from  love,  irritated  him,  for  it 
was  a rebuke  that  he  could  not  well  bear.  The 
forced  warmth  of  manner,  which  he  had  assumed  at 
first,  gave  place  in  a little  while  to  indifference.  To 
this  succeeded  coldness ; then  followed  words  harshly 
spoken ; and  to  these  were  soon  added  the  taunts 
of  a bitter  spirit. 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  any  man  could  act 
so  mean,  so  malignant  a part.  In  fact,  no  man, 
unless  possessed  of  an  infernal  spirit,  could  so  debase 
his  noble  nature. 

For  a short  period  lifter  the  marriage  of  her** 
daughter,  deceived  by  the  appearance  of  affection 
that  was  assumed  by  both  Laura  and  her  husband, 

Mrs.  0 , who  had  recovered  in  a few  days  from 

the  shock  her  feelings  had  sustained  on  the  night  of 
the  wedding,  became  cheerful,  and,  in  some  measure, 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


59 


resigned  to  an  event  that  had  taken  place  in  opposi- 
tion to  all  her  feelings  and  wishes.  But  she  did  not 
long  remain  deceived.  She  had,  herself,  suffered 
too  much  not  to  perceive  the  first  indications  of 
positive  suffering  in  her  child.  From  the  day  she 
became  fully  satisfied  that  Laura’s  husband  had  no 
true  affection  for  her,  and  that  her  life  would  be  a 
burden  even  more  intolerable  to  bear  than  had  been 
her  own,  she  began  to  droop  in  spirits,  and  steadily 
declined  from  that  hour  until  life  closed  up  with  her 
its  troubled  history.  This  mournful  event  took 
place  about  two  years  after  Laura’s  marriage. 
Long  before  its  occurrence,  Charles  Ruffin’s  con- 
duct toward  his  wife  had  become  brutal.  Having 
attained  his  end,  the  natural  baseness  of  his  charac- 
ter soon  led  him  to  throw  off  all  disguise.  The  first 
indications  were  seen  in  his  indifference  to  business. 
But  few  weeks  elapsed  before  his  long  period  of 
absence  from  the  counting-room,  and  his  want  of 
interest  in  the  operations  of  the  house  while  there, 
attracted  the  notice  of  his  father.  As  this  defection 
increased  day  after  day,  old  Mr.  Ruffin  felt  it  to  be 
his  duty  to  remonstrate.  He  did  so  as  gently  as 
was  in  his  power.  This  produced,  what  the  young 
man  desired,  a rupture,  and  he  withdrew  from  the 
new  firm  immediately. 

A wife’s  relation,  ^io  matter  how  uncongenial  it 
may  be,  involves  a certain  degree  of  affection  for 
and  interest  in  a husband.  In  a little  while  Laura 
began  to  lean  toward  Charles  Ruffin,  and  her  heart 
began  to  take  hold  of  and  cling  to  him  as  the  vine 
clings  to  the  statelier  tree  that  supports  it.  In  his 
absence,  she  experienced  a want  of  something,  and 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


\ 60 


involuntarily  looked  for  the  hour  of  his  return  with 
pleasure.  And  yet  she  found  little  satisfaction  in 
his  presence,  always  experiencing  a strong  internal 
; repulsion.  His  first  direct  expression  of  unkind- 
ness—the  first  laying  off  of  his  mask — took  place  at 
the  time  the  rupture  with  his  father  occurred.  He 
came  home,  soured  and  disturbed  in  mind,  and,  in  a 
captious  spirit  and  fretful  tone,  told  Laura  what  had 
happened,  adding,  with  emphasis — 

“ And  I am  glad  of  it !” 

“ 0 Charles  ! Don’t  say  so-*! — don’t  speak  in  that 
way!”  exclaimed  Laura,  without  reflection. 

Opposition  of  any  kind,  no  matter  how  trivial, 
Ruffin  never  could  bear ; it  fevered  his  whole  sys- 
tem in  an  instant. 

“ Why  not,  madam,  pray?”  he  replied,  drawing 
himself  up  in  an  imperious  manner,  and  looking 
sternly  at  poor  Laura,  into  whose  eyes  the  tears 
instantly  gushed.  There  was  no  reply. 

“ Why  not,  ha  ?”  repeated  the  husband.  u Am  I 
not  a free  man,  to  do  as  I please  ? Do  you  think  I 
am  going  to  confine  myself  to  a dirty  store  ? If  any 
one  does,  he  is  mistaken.” 

To  this  Laura  had  not  a word  to  answer.  His 
manner  had  completely  paralyzed  her.  He  could 
not  have  hurt  her  more,  had  he  struck  her  to  the 
earth.  % 

From  that  time  hope,  which  had  begun  to  spring, 
up  in  the  heart  of  Laura,  died.  She  saw,  beneath 
the  thin  exterior  of  her  husband’s  assumed  charac- 
ter, enough  of  the  real  qualities  of  his  mind,  to  rob 
her  of  all  the  desires  of  life. 

It  would  not  be  well  to  consume  the  reader’s 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


61 


time  by  tracing,  stej  by  step,  the  life-progress  of 
this  unhappy  couple.  Enough?  that  each  passing 
month  and  year  only  widened  the  breach  that 
Charles  had  made.  For  his  wife  he  had  no  love, 
and  did  not  attempt  even  to  assume  a virtue  he  did 
not  possess.  He  was  cold  toward  her,  and  neglected 
her  shamefully;  and  led,  besides,  a most  abandoned 
and  dissolute  life,  thus  wounding  her  spirit  more 
vitally. 

The  birth  of  a child  gave  her  something  to  love 
— a boon  for  which  she  was  deeply  thankful.  She 
could  not  have  survived  her  mother’s  death,  which 
took  place  a few  months  afterward,  had  not  this 
object  of  affection  been  given. 

A year  after  her  child  was  born,  her  husband’s 
conduct  became  so  outrageous,  that  her  father  took 
her  home,  and  forbade  the  young  man  from  ever 
crossing  his  threshold.  In  stern,  unrelenting  pur- 
pose, Mr.  0— — was  fully  a match  for  Charles 
Ruffin,  and  had,  what  he  did  not  possess,  a weight 
of  years  and  character  to  sustain  him. 

Many  months  did  not  elapse  before,  in  a spirit 
of  revenge,  an  effort  was  made  by  Ruffin  to  see  his 
wife,  and  induce  her  to  leave  her  father’s  protection, 
and  live  with  him  again. 

Laura  was  sitting,  one  day,  alone  in  her  room, 
with  her  babe  in  her  arms,  when  she  heard  a man’s 
step  behind  her.  She  turned  quickly,  in  affright, 
to  see  who  had  entered.  It  was  her  husband ! 

“How  are  you,  Laura?”  he  said,  in  a mild,  in- 
sinuating voice,  advancing  toward  his  wife,  and  ex* 
tending  his  hand* 

Surprise  and  agitation  prevented  Mrs.  Ruffin  from 

6 


62 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


either  rising  or  speaking.  Her  husband  toot  her 
hand,  and  pressed  it  within  his  own;  but  there  was 
no  returning  pressure.  The  power  of  action  was 
gone. 

44  Laura,  why  don’t  you  to  speak  to  me  t Am  I 
not  your  husband?”  This  was  said  in  a tone  of 
affected  sadness. 

44 0 Charles!  why  have  you  comn  here  to 
trouble  me?”  said  Mrs.  Ruffin,  as  soon  as  she  could 
utter  a word.  44  You  do  not  love  me— you  never 
have  loved  me.  I am  in  quiet  here,  if  not  in  peace 
— leave  me  then* as  I am.” 

44 Laura,  you  wrong  me,”  urged  the  young  man; 
44 1 do  love  you;  I have  always  loved  you.  An  un- 
happy temper  may  often  have  led  me  into  error ; 
but  still  I feel  for  you  a sincere  affection.  Sepa- 
rated from  you,  I am  miserable.  Will  you  not” — 

At  this  moment,  the  sound  of  horse’s  feet  came 
thundering  up  the  broad  avenue  that  led  to  the 
house.  Ruffin  glanced  from  the  window,  and  then 
glided  from  the  room  without  uttering  a word. 
Laura  was  thrilled  by  a sudden  fear ; she  could  not 
rise  nor  scream,  but  sat  as  if  nailed  to  her  chair, 
awaiting  some  fearful  issue.  From  this  paralyzed 
state,  the  quick,  sharp  crack  of  a pistol,  just  under 
the  window  where  she  sat,  aroused  her,  and  she 
sprang  forward  with  a cry  of  agony. 

About  half  an  hour  previous  to  this  time,  a friend 
entered  the  office  of  the  insurance  company  of  which 
Mr.  0 was  president,  and  hurriedly  communi- 

cated to  him  his  suspicion  that  his  son-in-law  had 
gone  out  to  visit  his  daughter ; with  what  intent  he 
had  no  means  of  knowing.  In  five  minutes  after, 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


63 


Mr.  0 — was  mounted  upon  a swift  horse,  and 

galloping  out  of  the  city  in  the  direction  of  his 
country-seat.  He  had  a loaded  pistol  in  his  pocket, 
and  his  firm  resolution  was  to  shoot  Ruffin,  if  he 
found  him  anywhere  upon  his  premises.  As  he 
rode,  with  a furious  gait,  up  to  his  house,  and  was 
shout  checking  his  horse  to  dismount,  his  eye  caught 
the  form  of  a man,  hurrying  down  stairs,  and  seek- 
ing egress  through  a back  door..  He  doubted  not 
that  it  was  his  son-in-law,  and,  firm  in  his  purpose, 
he  drewr  his  pistol  and  fired.  Happily  for  the  young 

man,  the  motion  of  the  horse,  upon  which  Mr.  O 

rode,  interfered  with  his  aim.  The  ball  glanced 
close  to  his  ear,  and  passed  on  harmlessly.  Spring- 
ing from  the  reeking  animal  upon  which  he  had 
ridden  with  such  hot  haste,  the  excited  father  dashed 
through  the  hall,  and  sought  to  overtake  the  fugi- 
tive. But  Ruffin  had  no  wish  to  meet  Mr.  O 

under  such  circumstances,  and  managed  to  elude 
him  entirely. 

Finding  his  pursuit  vain,  Mr.  0 returned, 

and  hurried  up  to  his  daughter’s  room.  He  found 
her  upon  the  floor,  insensible;  and  her  child,  that 
she  had  been  able  to  protect  in  her  fall,  lying  asleep, 
and  drawn  tightly  to  her  bosom.  The  sight  touched 
him  deeply,  and  brought  back  upon  his  mind  re- 
buking thoughts.  It  was  his  own  handiwork  he 
saw  before  him.  He  had  forced  his  child  into  an 
uncongenial  union,  and  now  had  no  power  to  restore 
peace  to  the  heart  he  had  so  cruelly  wronged. 

Domestics  wTere  instantly  called  in ; or,  rather, 
had  already  crowded  into  the  apartment,  alarmed 
by  tlie  hurried  arrival  of  their  master  and  the  noise 


64 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


of  his  pistol.  They  had  seen  no  one  enter  nor  leave 
the  house,  and  could  not  conjecture  the  cause  of 
what  had  passed  so  hurriedly.  The  first  impression 

produced  upon  their  minds  was,  that  Mr.  0 

had  shot  his  daughter.  This  variously  affected 
them.  Some  fled  to  remote  parts  of  the  house  in 
terror,  while  one  or  two  came  forward  and  assisted 
the  father  to  lift  his  child  from  the  floor  and  place 
her  upon  a bed.  The  gardener,  who  was  rushing 
into  the  house,  having  been  alarmed  by  the  report 
of  the  pistol,  was  met  in  the  hall  by  the  cook,  whose 
starting  eyes  and  quivering  lips  told  a tale  of  horror , 
“ What’s  the  matter  ? What’s  the  matter?”  the 
man  inquired  eagerly.  * 

“ Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!”  sobbed  the  cook — the 
effort  to  speak  bringing  a flood  of  tears — “Massa 

0 shot  poor  Miss  Laura,  and  killed  her  dead.” 

The  gardener  stayed  to  hear  no  more,  but  turned 
away  and  fled  from  the  house,  spreading  alarm  in 
every  direction.  He  paused  not  until  he  had  reached 
the  city,  where  he  gave  information  to  a magistrate, 

who  issued  a warrant  for  the  arrest  of  Mr.  0 , 

and  placed  it  in  the  hands  of  an  officer. 

The  fainting  fit  of  Mrs.  Ruffin  was  of  but  short 
duration.  She  opened  her  eyes  after  the  lapse  of 
fifteen  or  twenty  minutes.  The  presence  of  her 
father  bewildered  her  mind.  She  remembered,  with 
painful  distinctness,  the  visit  of  her  husband,  the 
hurried  sound  of  a horse’s  feet,  and  the  discharge 
of  a pistol.  From  that  moment  all  was  blank.  But 
there  was  a vail  of  horror  over  her  mind.  The  look 
of  anxious  inquiry  she  cast  upon  her  father  con- 
strained him  to  say — 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


65 


“No  one  has  been  harmed.  I only  came  home 
to  protect  you  from  outrage/’ 

“Was  it  you  who  rode  up  the  avenue  so  hur- 
riedly?” she  asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Did  he?” — she  could  not  finish  the  sentence, 
but  what  she  wished  to  say  was  understood.  Mr. 
0 — — was  silent. 

“He  did  not  attempt  to  harm  you,  father?  Oh, 
no  ! He  could  not  do  that — I am  sure  he  could 
not.  He  is  passionate,  and  has  many  faults,  but 
that  he  could  not  do.” 

With  some  reluctance,  Mr.  0 — — admitted  that 
he  had  attempted  to  shoot  R/uffin.  Laura  shuddered 
and  closed  her  eyes.  Almost  as  suddenly  as  if  a 
hand  had  been  laid  upon  her  heart  did  its  pulsations 
cease ; but  in  a little  while  they  were  renewed,  and 
the  current  of  life  went  on  again  in  its  circle. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  0— — could  leave  the  chamber 
of  Laura,  he  did  so.  He  descended  to  the  hall,  and 
was  approaching  the  front  door  of  the  house,  when 
three  men,  with  severe  and  resolute  faces,  entered. 
One  of  them  stepped  forward,  saying,  as  he  did  so, 
“I  arrest  you  in  the  name  of,”  &c.,  and  placed  his 

hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  0 . In  an  instant, 

the  officer  lay  upon  the  floor,  and,  in  an  instant 
after,  the  arms  of  Mr.  0 — — were  pinioned  by  the 
two  assistants,  and  he  hurried  out  of  the  house  and 
thrust  into  a carriage,  which  was  driven  off  at  full 
speed  for  the  city. 

For  some  time,  astonishment  kept  Mr.  0 — - 
dumb.  His  mind  sought  in  vain  for  an  explanation 
of  this  outrage  upon  his  jerson.  What  could  it 

6* 


60 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


mean  ? The  whole  thing  was  inexplicable.  As 
soon  as  he  could  control  himself  to  speak,  he  turned 
to  the  officers  who  had  arrested  him,  and  said — 

“ May  I ask  what  all  this  means  ? Why  am  I 
' dragged  from  my  house  like  a felon  or  murderer  V9 
“ You  are  accused  of  murder/' 

“Me?”  in  a voice  of  astonishment. 

“ Yes  ; of  the  murder  of  your  daughter  ?” 

“By  whom?” 

“By  a man  who  says  he  is  your  gardener/' 

“ Indeed  ! Perhaps  you  had  better  turn  back 
and  see  whether  my  daughter  be  alive  or  dead.” 
This  was  spoken  with  bitter  irony.  The  officer 
merely  replied — 

“ My  duty  is  to  take  your  person  before  a magis- 
trate; not  to  investigate  the  charges  against  you.” 

0 sunk  back  in  the  carriage,  silent,  but 

deeply  indignant  at  the  outrage  he  had  received. 
On  arnvjpg  at  the  magistrate’s  office,  he  found  his 
gardener  there,  looking  pale  and  frightened.  The 
poor  fellow  believed,  solemnly,  that- what  the  cook 
had  told  him  was  true.  When  called  upon  to  give 
his  testimony,  he  had  only  the  fact  of  hearing  the 
pistol  discharged  and  the  cook’s  affirmation  to  sus- 
tain the  allegation  he  had  made,  and  upon  which 
the  warrant  for  arrest  had  been  issued. 

“We  must  summon  the  cook,”  said  the  magis- 
trate, beginning  to  fill  up  a summons. 

“I  would  advise  you,  to  make  sure  of  getting  at 

the  truth,  to  summon  my  daughter,”  said  Mr.  0 , 

bitterly.  “ She  could  testify  to  the  fact  of  being 
Bhot,  or  shot  at,  more  clearly  than  any  one.  else.” 
The  magistrate  looked  at  the  prisoner  with  sur  - 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


67 


prise,  for  a moment,  and  then  proceeded  to  fill  up 
the  summons  and  despatch  it.  The  distance  was 
full  three  miles,  and  an  hour  and  a half  elapsed  be- 
fore the  cook  was  brought  in,  looking  half  frightened 
to  death.  Ocular  demonstration  had  fully  con- 
vinced her  that  “ Miss  Laura”  was  not  murdered, 
and  she  had  it  from  her  own  lips  that  she  had  not 
even  been  shot  at.  Her  evidence  settled  the  matter, 
and  Mr.  0— — was  released  from  custody,  with 
many  apologies  and  expressions  of  regrejt  that  such 
a mistake  had  occurred. 

While  the  investigation  at  the  magistrate’s  was 
going  on,  Rumour,  with  her  hundred  tongues,  spread 
the  news  through  the  city  that  a horrible  murder 
had  taken  place.  I heard  it  with  a thrill  of  horror, 
for  it  came  in  such  a shape  that  I could  not  help 
believing  it.  No  cause  for  the  dreadful  deed  was 
alleged,  for  none  could  be  imagined.  I shall  never 
forget  my  feelings  on  the  next  day,  when,  in  passing 

along  the  street,  I met  0 walking,  wTith  his 

usual  firm  step  and  erect  head,  quietly  along  the 
pave.  No  contradiction  of  the  rumours  of  the  pre- 
ceding evening  had  reached  my  ears,  and  I,  there- 
fore, still  believed  him  to  be  the  murderer  of  his  child. 
The  sensation  I experienced,  I cannot  describe. 

When  the  real  cause  of  all  this  mortifying  ex- 
posure and  false  accusation  became  known,  the  feel- 
ing against  Charles  Ruffin  w~as  very  strong — and  he 
felt  strongly,  too.  Toward  the  father  of  Laura,  he 
indulged  a murderous  hate,  and  vowed  to  be  deeply 
revenged.  How  he  sought  this  revenge  will  be  seen. 

Time  rolled  on,  and  the  excitement  and  gossip 
occasioned  by  the  events  we  have  mentioned,  died 


68 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


entirely  away,  and  the  circumstances  attending  them 
were  forgotten,  except  by  a few,  in  whose  memories 
such  incidents  are  always  kept  alive.  The  child  of 
' Laura  had  grown  to  a sweet  little  girl,  five  years  of 
age,  and  was  the  strong  cord  that  bound  her  mother 
to  life.  In  the  few  years  that  had  elapsed  since  the 

death  of  his  wife,  Mr.  0 had  grown  old  rapidly. 

His  tall,  erect  form  had  acquired  a slight  stoop ; 
his  hair  had  lost  its  jetty  blackness  ; he  walked  with 
a slower  and  more  careful  gait.  In  the  vigour  of 
early  manhood,  and  even  in  its  staid  and  firm  ma 
turity,  he  had  never  loved  any  thing  so  well  as  him- 
jelf — had  loved,  sincerely,  nothing  out  of  himself. 
But  his  infant  grandchild  had  won  upon  his  tenderest 
feelings;  had  entwined  herself  with  every  fibre  of 
his  heart.  He  never  tired  of  her  sweet  prattle — 
when  at  home,  she  was  ever  by  his  side,  or  in  his 
arms,  and,  while  away,  she  was  ever  in  his  thoughts. 

The  husband  of  Laura,  since  his  first  attempt  to 
see  her,  had  made  no  overt  act  that  looked  to  the 
same  end.  For  a greater  part  of  the  time  he  had 
been  away  from  Baltimore,  residing  in  one  of  the 
West  India  islands. 

Thus  matters  stood,  when  Mr.  0 was  startled, 

and  his  daughter  terrified,  by^  the  institution  of  a 
suit  on  behalf  of  Charles  Ruffin,  for  the  possession 
of  his  infant  daughter.  The  effect  upon  the  mind 
of  Mrs.  Ruffin  was  so  serious,  that  medical  advice 
was  deemed  necessary,  and  I was  called  in  to  see 
her,  as  intimated  in  the  beginning  of  this  history. 
It  was  my  first  visit  to  the  family. 

I was  preparing  to  go  out,  one  afternoon,  when 
Mr.  0 himself  entered  my  office.  We  were  not 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


69 


personally  acquainted,  though  each  of  us  knew  the 
other  very  well  by  reputation.  He  looked  agitated, 
yet  evidently  was  striving  to  appear  calm. 

46  Are  you  very  much  engaged,  this  afternoon, 
doctor  ?”  he  said,  as  he  took  my  hand. 

44 1 have  several  calls  to  make,”  I replied.  44  But 
if  there  is  any  pressing  need  of  my  attendance  in 
another  quarter,  I shall  feel  myself  bound  to  go.” 

4tI  wish  you  to  see  my  daughter,”  Mr.  0 

said.  44  She  is  in  a very  unhappy  state  of  mind. 
I don’t  know  that  medicine  can  do  her  any  good. 
Still  I would  like  you  to  see  her.” 

44  What  is  the  nature  of  the  affection  under  which 
she  is  suffering?”  I asked. 

Mr.  0- — — looked  thoughtful  for  some  moments, 
and  then  said — 

44  A disease  of  the  mind,  doctor,  beyond  the  reach 
of  your  skill,  I fear.” 

He  then  related,  briefly,  some  of  the  facts  con- 
nected with  her  unhappy  marriage,  and  concluded 
by  saying  that  the  effect  upon  her  mind,  of  the  suit 
which  her  husband  had  instituted  for  the  recovery 
of  his  child,  was  of  a most  distressing  and  alarming 
character,  causing  him  to  tremble  for  her  reason. 

44 1 do  not  think  there  is  any  cause  for  her  being 
so  much  alarmed,”  I remarked.  44  Her  husband 
cannot  get  possession  of  the  child  by  any  legal 
process.” 

44 1 wflsh  I only  felt  sure  of  that,  doctor,”  was 
replied,  mournfully.  44  But  I do  not.  By  the  law 
which  governs  in  these  cases,  the  father  has  a right 
to  claim  his  offspring.  For  years,  I have  dreaded 
just  what  has  at  last  happened.  I knew  too  well 


70 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


the  vindictive  spirit  of  Charles  Ruffin*  to  hope* 
except  for  a brief  time*  that  he  would  fail  to  stab 
us  in  this  tender  place.  My  fears  I never  breathed 
to  my  unhappy  child — and  she  had  no  thought  of 
danger  like  this.  The  announcement  of  the  fact 
that  a suit  had  been  commenced,  fell  upon  her  as 
unexpectedly  as  a bolt  from  a summer  sky,  and  has 
completely  prostrated  her.  Since  the  whole  truth 
burst  upon  her,  and  her  mind  fully  apprehended  the 
danger  that  threatened,  she  has  confined  herself, 
with  our  dear  little  Ella,  in  her  room,  and  will 
admit  no  one  but  myself  and  the  nurse.  If  I urge 
the  necessity  of  taking  the  child  out,  that  it  may 
breathe  the  fresh  air  in  the  garden  or  upon  the 
lawn,  she  answers  me  only  with  tears.  If  I attempt 
to  take  the  child  from  the  room  against  her  wish, 
she  seizes  hold  of  it  frantically,  and  utters  such 
cries  of  anguish  that  I am  forced  to  desist.  It  is 
now  ten  days  since  either  she  or  the  dear  little  on< 
has  left  her  chamber,  and  the  health  of  both  are 
beginning  to  suffer.  The  child  is  pining  to  get  out, 
but  her  mother  will  not  let  her  go.” 

Then  uttering  a bitter  imprecation  upon  the 
author  of  all  this  misery,  he  turned  quickly  and 
said : 

“ But  come,  doctor,  my  carriage  is  at  the  door. 
You  must  see  her  yourself ; perhaps  you  may  be 
able  to  do  something.” 

I was  not  very  sanguine  of  this.  I had  no  ac 
quaintance  with  Mrs.  Ruffin,  and  did  not  believe 
that  in  her  state  of  mind,  if  truly  described,  she 
would  give  any  confidence  to  a stranger.  I sug- 
gested this,  but  Mr.  O— — thought  differently,  and 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


71 


I diet  not  care  to  anticipate  difficulties ; besides,  be 
had  mentioned  that  the  child  seemed  feverish  and 
needed  some  attention. 

On  arriving  at  the  house  and  going  to  the  door 
cf  Mrs.  Ruffin’s  room,  we  found  it  locked. 

“It  is  always  so,”  said  Mr.  0 , as  he  tapped 

lightly  against  it. 

“Who’s  there?”  I heard  asked,  in  a low  voice. 

“Open  the  door,  Laura.  It  is  I,”  her  father 
replied. 

The  door  was  half  opened,  and  held  tightly  until 

Mr.  0 crowded  in,  and  then  it  was  shut  with  a 

sudden  jar,  leaving  me  upon  the  outside.  I remained 
where  I was  for  the  space  of  about  five  minutes.  1 
could  hear  the  sound  of  voices  within,  sometimes 
loud  and  excited,  and  sometimes  low  and  plead- 
ing. I could  also  hear  occasional  sobs.  At  the 

expiration  of  this  time,  Mr.  0 came  out,  as 

before  crowding  through  a small  aperture  of  the 
door. 

“She  has  at  last  consented  to  see  you,  doctor,” 
he  said.  “ I gained  my  end  only  by  assuming  that 
Ellen  was  very  ill,  and  must  have  medical  at- 
tendance.” 

“ Do  you  wish  me  to  see  her  now  ?”  I inquired. 

“Yes,  she  is  ready  to  receive  you.” 

He  then  tapped  at  the  door  again,  after  he  had 
answered  her  query  of  who  was  there.  Mrs.  Ruffin 
partly  opened  it  as  before,  and  we  crowded  through. 
The  instant  we  were  within  she  closed  the  door 
with  an  energetic  action,  double  locked  and  bolted 
t,  and  then  sprang  back  to  where  a little  girl  was 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


standing  in  tears,  and  caught  her  wildly  up  in  her 
arms. 

44  They  want  to  take  her  away,”  she  said,  lifting 
her  deep  blue  eyt^s  to  mine — 44  but  they  can’t  do  it. 
Nobody  shall  take  my  child  from  me.” 

44  Nobody  can  take  her  from  you,”  I said,  falling 
in  at  once  in  a familiar  way  with  her  mood.  4 4 She 
is  yours,  and  nobody  can  touch  her.  Poor  child,” 
I added,  putting  my  hand  upon  her  head,  44  she  does 
not  look  well.  She  wants  fresh  air  and  exercise.” 

44 1 think  she  is  very  well,  doctor,”  the  mother 
returned  quickly.  44 1 keep  the  windows  open  a 
good  deal,  and  she  can  play  through  the  room.  It 
is  large.” 

44  But  this  room  is  not  like  the  green  lawn  out  o* 
doors ; nor  are  the  drooping  flowers  with  which 
these  vases  are  filled,  like  the  fresh  blossoms  in  your 
beautiful  garden.  She  must  have  fresh  air,  madam, 
and  exercise  out  of  doors.” 

44  But  the  danger,  doctor  ! Think  of  the  danger  !” 
She  spoke  in  a deep  whisper,  and  with  a look  of 
love. 

44  There  is  no  danger,  madam.  None  in  the 
world.” 

44  Oh,  but  there  is  ! They  are  watching  all  around 
the  house  for  her,  and  would  snatch  her  up  in  a mo- 
ment. Isn’t  it  dreadful!” 

The  poor  creature  shuddered  from  head  to  foot. 

44  It  would  be  dreadful  if  this  were  the  case,  but 
I can  assure  you  it  is  not,  madam.  Now,  that  a 
suit  has  been  commenced,  all  parties  will  wait  for 
its  termination.  If  there  had  been  any  wish  on  th# 
^art  of  anv  one  to  obtain  forcible  possession  of  youi 


THE  BROKEN  HEA1.T. 


73 


child,  no  suit  would  have  been  instituted.  There 
have  been  hundreds  of  opportunities  for  carrying 
her  off.,, 

But  the  mother’s  mind  was  not  accessible  to  reason* 
Her  fears  overshadowed  every  thing.  Nothing  that 
l could  urge  made  any  impression  upon  her. 

“You  are  not  afraid  to  ride  out  with  your 
father?”  1 said,  after  a pause.  “The  carriage 
could  be  shut  up  closely,  and  no  one  would  suspect 
who  was  in  it.” 

“I  wouldn’t  leave  this  room  with  Ella  for  the 
world,”  she  replied,  in  a solemn  voice.  “You  cam 
not  tempt  me,  doctor.” 

“Your  father  is  able  to  protect  you  and  Ella.” 

“And  will  protect  you  with  my  life,”  said  Mr. 

0 -. 


But  Mrs.  Ruffin  shook  her  head  slowly,  and  drew 
her  child  closer  to  her  side. 

I was  puzzled ; and  Mr.  0 looked  anxious 

and  disturbed.  After  some  moments  of  harried 
reflection,  I drew  him  aside,  and  said  aloud  enough 
for  Mrs.  Ruffin  to  hear  me, 

“ Don’t  you  think  it  would  be  advisable  to  leave 
this  place  and  go  away  into  the  country,  say  forty 
or  fifty  miles,  where  no  one  would  dream  of  seek- 
ing for  the  child?” 

A side  glance  at  Mrs.  Ruffin  satisfied  me  that  she 
H3t  only  heard  every  word,  but  was  deeply  interested 
in  what  I said. 

“Let  me  think,”  replied  the  father,  understand- 
ing me  in  a moment.  4 And  he  stood  thoughtful  for 
some  time. 

“ Where  could  we  go  ?”  he  at  length  asked. 


74 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


“ Oh ! as  to  that,  there  are  hundreds  of  secluded 
little  spots,  at  any  one  of  which  concealment  would 
be  perfect. ” 

44  How  would  you  like  that,  Laura  ?”  Mr.  0 

said,  turning  and  speaking  to  his  daughter. 

44  Oh,  above  all  things.  Let  us  go  far  away  from 
here.  Not  fifty,  nor  a hundred,  but  a thousand 
miles.,, 

44  Very  well.  Then  we  will  go.  Any  thing  for 
safety.  Can  you  be  ready  in  a week  ?” 

64In  a w^eek  ! Yes,  in  an  hour.  Oh  ! father,  let 
us  go  instantly.  Dear  little  Ella  may  be  taken  from 
us  to-night.” 

44 1 do  not  think  there  is  any  danger  of  that,”  I 
urged : 44  besides,  it  takes  some  time  to  prepare  for 
so  long  a journey.” 

44  But  think  of  the  urgency  of  the  case,  doctor ; 
that  calls  for  extraordinary  haste.  I am  ready — 
or,  can  be  ready  in  an  hour.  Let  us  go  to-day.” 

44  It  will  be  impossible,  my  dear,”  replied  Mr. 

0 . 44  We  cannot  start  before  to-morrow,  at 

the  earliest.” 

With  difficulty  we  got  her  reconciled  to  wait  until 
the  next  day,  and  then  left  her  alone  to  consult 
upon  wThat  was  best  to  be  done.  The  poor  child 
begged  and  cried  to  go  with  her  grandfather,  but 
the  mother  kept  fast  hold  of  her.  The  sight  grieved 
me  much. 

I talked  the  matter  over  with  Mr.  0 for  an 

hour.  It  was  finally  determined  that  a pleasant 
house  should  be  taken,  if  one  could  be  found,  some- 
where within  five  or  ten  miles  of  the  city,  and  pre- 
pared for  the  reception  of  the  unhappy  mother  am? 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


75 


her  child.  Then  a journey  of  at  least  a week  should 
be  made  in  the  family  carriage,  at  the  end  of  which 
period,  the  house  selected  should  be  reached,  and 
thus  the  impression  be  made  upon  Mrs.  R.’s  mind, 
that  she  was  at  least  two  hundred  miles  away  from 
Baltimore.  In  deciding  upon  this  course,  numerous 
difficulties  presented  themselves,  but  were  finally 
set  aside.  The  most  prominent  was,  the  necessary 
absence  from  his  daughter  and  grand-daughter,  that 
would  be  required  on  the  part  of  Mr.  0 — — , who 
had  to  be  in  the  city  every  day.  If  he  were  to 
return  home  every  night,  the  suspicion  would  at 
once  arise  that  they  could  not  be  two  hundred  miles 
from  the  threatened  danger.  It  was  at  last  de- 
termined that  he  should  go  to  them  twice  a week, 
and  leave  his  daughter  to  infer  that  he  came  nearly 
the  whole  distance  by  steamboat. 

This  was  just  the  extent  of  my  medical  ser- 
vices in  the  case  on  my  first  visit.  The  plan  pro- 
posed was  carried  out,  and  I saw  no  more  of 

either  Mr.  0 or  his  daughter  for  marly  three 

months. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  suit  instituted  by  Ruffin  pro- 
gressed as  fast  as  the  nature  of  the  case  allowed. 
The  most  untiring  efforts  were  made  by  mutual 
friends  to  divert  him  from  his  malignant  purpose, 
but  his  resolution  to  carry  tl? ) thing  through,  re- 
mained firm.  His  father  opp  sed  him  as  strongly 
as  any  one ; but  persuasion  and  remonstrance  were 
alike  unavailing.  His  only  answer  was : 

“ It  is  my  child,  and  the  law  will  give  her  to  me 
I did  not  separate  myself  from  my  wife ; she  left 
me,  and  took  away  my  child..  She  may  remain 


76 


THE  BROKEN  HEART 


where  she  is.  I do  not  care  to  see  her ; but  my 
child  I will  have.  The  law  is  clear  on  this  head, 
and  I am  very  willing  to  await  its  decision.” 

At  length  the  day  of  trial  drew  near ; and  much 
excitement  prevailed  on  the  subject.  But,  as  the 
matter  was  never  alluded  to  in  any  of  the  news- 
papers — means  being  taken  to  prevent  this— the 
Knowledge  of  it  was  confined  to  a particular  circle. 
My  practice  was  in  this  circle.  Wherever  I went, 
the  theme  of  conversation  was  the  approaching  suit. 
In  not  one  instance  did  I hear  an  expression  of 
sympathy  for  Ruffin.  Every  voice  was  lifted  against 
him,  and  the  statute  that  would  tear  from  a mother’s 
arms  her  child,  denounced  in  the  severest  terms  as 
unjust  and  in  opposition  to  the  very  first  laws  of 
Nature.  But  this  did  not  stay  the  regular  pro- 
gression of  events.  At  length  the  day  arrived,  the 

case  was  called,  and  Mr.  0 required  to  produce 

the  child  in  court. 

From  the  time  of  Mrs.  Ruffin’s  removal  from  the 
family  homestead,  up  to  this  period,  she  had  lived 
in  imagined  seclusion.  But  a knowledge  of  her 
unhappy  state  of  mind,  the  ruse  that  had  been 
practised  upon  her,  and  where  she  was,  was  known 
to  all  her  friends,  and  even  widely  beyond  this  circle 
of  true  sympathy.  The  order  to  bring  the  child 

into  court,  an  order  upon  which  Mr.  0 had  not 

at  all  calculated,  created  in  his  mind  the  most  anxious 
solicitude.  It  could  not  be  done  without  endanger- 
ing the  very  life  of  his  daughter. 

It  was  at  this  crisis,  that  I was  again  summoned 
to  attend  Mrs.  Ruffin.  Why  I was  selected,  I never 
could  exactly  understand.  The  regular  physician 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


77 


of  the  family  was  a man  of  distinguished  pro- 
fessional ability,  and  a competent  adviser.  As 

before,  Mr.  0 called  upon  me  at  my  office. 

He  looked  haggard  and  careworn,  and  appeared 
at  least  five  years  older  than  when  I last  saw  him. 
lie  stated  to  me  the  alarming  aspect  of  affairs,  and 
asked  for  my  advice  as  a physician,  a father,  and 
a man. 

“ As  for  me,”  he  said,  “I  have  lost  that  clear 
perception  of  things  which  I usually  possess.  I 
feel  bewildered  half  of  my  time.  I cannot  see  what 
it  is  right  for  me  to  do.  Sometimes  I get  so  excited, 
that  I am  strongly  tempted  to  bring  the  whole  thing 
to  a close  by  blovv  ng  out  the  brains  of  that  infamous 
rascal,  whose  fiend-like  persecutions  have  made  my 
poor  child  more  than  half  a maniac,  and  threaten  to 
destroy  her  life.  And  after  all  is  said,  I believe 
this  is  the  only  horn  of  the  dilemma  left.  It  will 
kill  Laura  to  take  away  her  daughter ; or,  worse, 
entirely  unsettle  her  reason.  Is  there  any  .doubt 
as  to  my  right  course  ? I must  choose  between  the 
death  of  my  child,  or  the  death  of  her  persecutor? 
And  I will  choose  !” 

As  Mr.  0 uttered  the  last  sentence,  his  face 

grew  with  passion,  and  he  turned  from  me 

with  the  air  of  a man  who  had  fully  resolved  upon 
a desperate  deed.  I laid  my  hand  upon  his  arm, 
and  said  it  a firm  voice : 

“ Think  again,  Mr.  0 . Perhaps  a better 

way  may  be  found.” 

“ I have  thought  of  every  thing,”  he  replied — 
“and  I see  but  one  course;  a dreadful  one,  I ad- 
nit ; but  desperate  cases  require  desperate  remedies. 

7* 


78 


T1IE  BROKEN  HEART. 


Laura’s  child  shall  not  be  dragged  from  her  arms  t 
I swear  it,  solemnly,  this  hour  ! With  my  life  I will 
prevent  this  cruel  outrage.” 

66  You  will  not  attempt  the  murderous  deed  you 
have  threatened,”  I said,  looking  earnestly  into  the 
face  of  Mr.  0 . 

“ But  I’ll  tell  you  what  I will  do.  I’ll  guard  the 
asylum  of  my  injured  child,  and  guard  it  with  my 
life.  I shall  return  home  to-night  well  armed,  and, 
remaining  at  home,  await  the  issue.  If  the  myrmi- 
doms  of  the  law  come  to  drag  our  sweet  babe  away 
from  us,  they  will  do  their  work  only  by  passing 
over  my  dead  body.  I have  formed  this  instant 
resolution;  and  I mean  to  abide  by  it.  ’ 

“ Let  me  suggest  a better  way,”  1 said,  in  reply 
to  this. 

“ There  is  no  better  wray;  but  let  me  hear  wna« 
you  have  to  propose.” 

“ I will  go  home  with  you  to-night,  and  see  your 
daughter.  To-morrow  we  will  return,  and  I will 
go  into  court  and  testify  as  a physician,  that  to 
remove  the  child  will  be  to  destroy  either  the 
mother’s  reason  or  her  life.  I will  also  describe 
to  the  court  the  distressing  consequences  already 
attendant  upon  this  unnatural  prosecution,  and  urge 
every  humane  consideration  in  favour  of  letting  the 
suit  go  on  without  further  disturbing  the  unhappy 
mother.” 

“ That  is,  you  would  merely  beg  for  justice  ? ’ 
"“Call  it  what  you  please.  In  a case  like  this 
the  best  means  are  the  wisest,  and  should  be  adopted 
by  a wise  man,  witnout  jetting  his  feelings  come 
into  the  question.  You  propose  to  defend  your 


THE  fcxvOKEN  HEART* 


7* 


laughter  from  this  outrage  by  an  appeal  to  deadly 
weapons?  Very  well;  suppose  you  shoot  half-a- 
dozen  men,  you  will  be  at  length  overpowered  and 
dragged  away,  if  not  killed  upon  the  spot.  Do  you 
think  this  would  make  Mrs.  Ruffin’s  position  any 
better  ? You  know  that  it  would  not.  No — no, 
sir ; I have  proposed  the  only  safe  course,  and  one 
that  will,  I am  sure,  bring  about  the  result  we  so 
much  desire.” 

“Well,  if  you  think  it  will  do  any  good,  I am 
willing  to  see  the  trial  made ; but  I have  no  faith 
in  the  result.  It  will  have  to  come  at  last  to  what 
I have  said.” 

“I  do  not  think  so.  For  such  an  alternative  I 
cannot  believe  there  is  any  necessity.” 

“ There  is  law  in  this  country,  doctor,  but  little 
justice . However,  I have  agreed  to  let  you  manage 
the  thing  in  your  own  way — or  at  least  try  to  manage 
it.  I will  wait  as  patiently  as  I can  for  the  issue 
of  that  trial.  You  go  home  with  me  this  afternoon  ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Can  you  start  at  once  ?” 

“I  will  be  ready  to  go  with  you  in  a very  few 
minutes,”  I replied,  and  left  him  for  a short  time, 
in  order  to  make  a few  hurried  preparations  to 
attend  him. 

A rapid  drive  of  an  hour  and  a half  brought  ua 
to  the  secluded  spot  where  Mrs.  Ruffin  imagined 
she  was  concealed  from  the  knowledge  of  every  one. 
As  the  carriage  came  up  to  the  door,  we  found  her 
seated  in  a garden-chair,  on  a beautiful  lawn  in  front 
of  the  house — her  little  girl. playing  near  her.  She 
remembered  me  the  moment  I alighted  from  the 


80 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


carriage,  and  came  forward  with  my  name  upon  her 
lips.  No  smile  lit  up  her  pale  face  as  she  greeted 
me ; no  light  sparkled  in  her  eye.  I spoke  cheer- 
fully to  her,  but  she  did  not  answer  in  a cheerful 
voice.  When  I took  her  little  girl  by  the  hand,  a 
look  of  alarm  gathered  upon  her  face,  and  she  took 
fast  hold  of  the  child's  hand.  I smiled  and  said : 

“ You  are  not  afraid  of  me  ?" 

She  did  not  make  any  answer ; but  I could  see 
from  her  half-averted  face,  and  whole  manner,  that 
she  regarded  me  with  suspicion. 

“ Come,  dear,"  she  said  to  her  child,  “the  dew 
is  beginning  to  fall ; we  must  go  into  the  house"  - 
and  she  led  her  daughter  away.  The  child  was  re- 
luctant, but  passive.  As  she  followed  her  mother, 
she  looked  back  frequently,  and  called  out — 

“Grandpa,  come !" 

“Poor  child!"  said  Mr.  0 , in  a voice  of 

tender  regret.  “ Accursed  villain  !"  he  added,  with 
a sudden  change  of  manner  and  tone.  “You  shall 
yet  suffer  for  this" — and  he  clenched  his  hand,  and 
ground  his  teeth  in  a paroxysm  of  anger. 

“ Much  depends,  my  dear  sir,"  I said  to  him,  “on 
your  controlling  yourself.  Do  not  let  your  daughter 
see  that  you  are  excited,  for  she  will  attribute  all  to 
fear." 

“ Am  I a stock  or  3,  stone,  doctor  ? Is  it  possible 
for  me  to  look  on  and  be  calm  ? Do  you  suppose  I 
can  mark,  day  by  day,  the  pale  face  of  my  child 
growing  paler,  the  light  in  her  eye  fading,  the  tone 
of  her  voice  growing  sadder  and  sadder,  and  not 
feel  ? Look  at  her,  doctor  ! Do  you  see  nc  change 
since  your  eyes  last  rested  upon  her  ? Is  she  the 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


81 


same  ? I believe  her  heart  is  already  broken.  Ah, 
sir  ! This  is  all  hard  to  bear  !” 

I felt  that  it  must  be.  I had  already  noticed  the 
change  to  which  he  referred — a change  that  indi- 
cated the  rapid  progress  of  a malady  for  which  I 
had  no  remedy. 

We  followed  Mrs.  Ruffin  into  the  house.  As  we 
entered  from  the  lawn,  she  went  up  stairs  with  hei 
child,  who  called  out  earnestly : 

“ Grandpa,  come  up  ! do  come,  grandpa.” 
u Go,  my  dear  sir,  at  once.  Do  not  make  any 

ceremony  with  me,”  said  I.  Mr.  0 took  me 

at  my  word,  and  followed  his  daughter  and  her  child 
up  to  her  chamber. 

I felt  troubled  at  the  appearance  of  things.  Poor 
Mrs.  Ruffin  had  changed  more  than  I had  dreamed. 

Mr.  0 had  truly  described  her  appearance  ; she 

looked  like  one  whose  heart  was  breaking.  Her 
face  was  almost  colourless,  and  painful  to  look  upon 
— it  was  so  very  sad. 

I remained  alone  for  nearly  the  space  of  half  an 
hour.  Then  both  Mrs.  Ruffin  and  her  father  joined 
me.  Little  Ella  was  asleep.  Few  and  brief  tvere 
the  sentences  that  were  uttered  by  any  of  us,  until 
tea  was  announced.  At  the  table  a light,  rambling 

conversation  sprung  up  between  Mr.  0 and 

myself,  and  relieved  the  sense  of  oppression  under 
which  we  all  laboured.  As  soon  as  we  arose  from 
the  table,  Mrs.  Ruffin  retired  to  join  her  child. 

“ Don’t  you  see  a.  great  chinge,  doctor?”  said 

Mr.  0" , as  soon  as  we  were  alone. 

“Your  daughter  certainly  has  changed  since  1 


82 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


last  saw  her,”  I replied.  “ But,  living  as  she  has 
lived,  is  a change  to  be  wondered  at?” 

“No,  doctor,  it  is  not,”  he  replied,  bitterly. 

' “ ’But  the  necessity  for  living  thus  is  what  drives  me 
almost  mad.  I feel  myself  growing  more  and  more 
desperate  every  day.  No  consequences,  it  seems 
to  me,  can  be  more  dreadful  than  those  already 
existing.  There  must  come  a change,  and  that 
speedily.” 

As  best  I could,  did  I soothe  this  state  of  excite- 
ment ; but  I had  little  or  nothing  to  say  in  regard 
to  the  daughter’s  physical  or  mental  condition  that 
was  at  all  favourable.  I did  not  see  her  again  that 
night.  On  the  next  morning  we  met  early  at  the 
breakfast-table.  The  child  was  still  asleep.  I tried 
to  draw  Mrs.  Ruffin  out  into  a conversation  on  some 
general  topic ; but  this  I could  not  do.  Her  mind 
dwelt  upon  only  one  subject,  and  could  not  be  in- 
terested in  any  other.  After  breakfast,  Mr.  0 

and  myself  started  for  the  city. 

“ Do  you  believe  Laura  would  survive  the  removal 
of  her  child  from  her?”  he  asked  me,  as  we  seated 
ourselves  in  his  carriage. 

“I  certainly  do  not,”  I could  but  reply. 

“ Do  you  believe  she  could  bear  its  production  in 
court,  even  if  she  accompanied  it?”  he  added. 

“ To  attempt  to  bring  it  into  court  would  certainly 
destroy  either  her  reason  or  her  life,”  I said. 

“ If  she  were  your  child,  would  you  permit  a thing 
to  oe  done  that  would  produce  one  or  both  of  these 
direful  consequences  ?” 

“Not  if  I could  prevent  it.” 

“No — nor  would  any  father.” 


TIIE  BROKEN  HEART. 


83 


“ I trust — nay,  I am  sure,  the  order  of  yesterday 
will  be  withdrawn,  so  soon  as  I make  a statement 
of  Mrs.  Ruffin’s  condition. 

44  It  may  be — I am  not  sanguine.  Rut  even  if  it 
is,  the  matter  is  by  no  means  settled.  In  less  than 
a week,  the  decision  of  the  court  may  be  adverse.” 

44  Do  not  anticipate  the  worst,  Mr.  0 .” 

44  Ruffin  has  the  law  on  his  side.” 

44  And  his  wife  humanity.” 

44  A feeble  hope  that.  What  has  humanity  to  do 
in  a case  of  law.” 

44  The  judges  are  men.” 
uBut  without  human  feeling.” 

44 1 believe  differently.  Two  upon  the  bench  I 
know  to  be  men  of  the  better  sort — men  who  will  • 
lean  to  the  side  of  humanity,  and  let  their  decision 
be  governed  by  it  as  far  as  is  possible.” 

0 shook  his  head.  44 1 have  no  faith  in 

men,”  he  gloomily  answered.  44 1 have  lived  too 
long  in  the  world.” 

44 1 have  lived  some  years  in  the  world,  also,”  I 
said,  44  and  I have  some  faith  in  men.  Man’s  better 
feelings  are  not  all  perverted.” 

0 — — still  shook  his  head,  and  seemed  disposed 
to  be  silent  and  indulge  his  own  reflections.  See- 
ing this,  I leaned  back  in  the  carriage,  and  was 
silent  also. 

At  ten  o’clock  I entered  the  court-room.  It  was 
already  well  filled.  The  case  had  been  called  on 
the  previous  day,  and  this  fact,  with  the  order  that 
immediately  followed,  to  produce  the  child  in  court, 
had  sped  quickly  through  the  circle  of  the  unhappy 
mother’s  friends  and  their  acquaintances.  Ladies  of 


84 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


the  first  families,  who  had  never  befoi  e seen  the  inside 
of  a court-room,  now  filled  every  bench  that  could 
be  had,  or  stood  in  the  open  spaces,  anxiously  wait- 
ing for  the  proceedings  to  begin.  The  first  person 
upon  whom  my  eyes  rested,  as  I entered  the  room, 
was  Charles  Ruffin.  He  sat  by  the  side  of  his  coun- 
sel, unabashed,  although  every  eye  was  upon  him, 
and  almost  every  heart  execrating  him.  He  looked 

steadily  at  Mr.  0 , who  came  in  wTith  me,  his 

eyes  not  once  sinking  beneath  the  withering  scowTl 
that  settled  upon  the  father’s  brow. 

In  the  course  of  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  the  pro- 
ceedings commenced.  The  first  thing  was  a repeti- 
tion of  the  order  of  the  court  to  produce  the  child. 

All  eyes  turned  towaid  Mr.  0 ; there  was  a 

breathless  pause.  The  counsel  for  the  defence  here 
stated  that  he  wdshed  to  produce  the  testimony  of 
the  physician,  who  had  attended  Mrs.  Ruffin,  as  to 
her  state  of  health,  and  the  certain  effect  that  would 
be  produced  if  the  order  of  the  court  were  carried 
out.  I wras  then  called  upon  to  give  the  proposed 
testimony. 

In  performing  this  duty,  I strove  to  present  as 
vivid  a picture  as  possible  of  the  unhappy  state  of 
the  mother’s  mind.  I described  all  I had  seen  in 
the  strongest  colours,  and  concluded  by  saying,  that 
as  a physician,  I believed,  solemnly,  that  if  the 
order  of  the  court  were  executed,  it  would  instantly 
destroy  the  mother’s  life. 

I do  not  think  there  was  more  than  two  witlrun- 
moistened  eyes  in  the  room,  when  I left  the  stand — 
those  two  were  Ruffin  and  his  counsel : the  firpt' waa- 
unmoveo,  because  malignant  passions  sustained  Wpi 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


85 


— the  latter  because  he  heard  all  that  was  related 
as  an  opposing  counsel;  his  thoughts  kept  all  emo- 
tions quiescent.  Even  the  judges  were  disturbed, 
and  had  great  difficulty  to  rally  themselves. 

The  counsel  for  the  defence  was  about  rising  to 
enforce  the  evidence  I had  given,  when  he  was  re- 
quested by  the  judges  to  defer  what  he  was  going 
to  say  for  a few  minutes.  A brief  consultation  was 
held  upon  the  bench,  and  then  one  of  the  associate 
judges  declared  the  order  of  the  preceding  day  re- 
scinded. A murmur  of  satisfaction  ran  through  the 

crowded  room ; Mr.  0 was  overpowered  with 

emotion.  He  felt  what  he  had  not  felt  before,  that 
there  was  a leaning  of  the  court  toward  the  side  of 
humanity. 

A few  minutes  after  the  court  had  set  aside  the 
order  of  the  previous  day,  I turned  my  eyes  to  that 
part  of  the  room  where  I had  seen  Charles  Ruffin 
seated  by  the  side  of  his  counsel.  The  lawTyer  was 
there,  but  Ruffin  I could  nowhere  see.  A suspicion 
flashed  across  my  mind. 

“ Did  you  see  Ruffin  go  out?”  I whispered  to 
Mr.  0 

Either  my  words,  or  manner,  caused  him  to  turn 
pale. 

“No,”  he  replied,  glancing  hurriedly  around. 
“ Has  he  gone  out?” 

“I  do  not  see  him  anywhere  in  the  room.  He 
mast  have  left  it.” 

“Where  can  he  have  gone?  Why  has  he  left  so 
abruptly  at  this  particular  moment?” 

“I  cannot,  certainly,  tell,”  I said. 

“ I must  go  home  immediately,  and  you  must  go 

8 


86 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


with  me,  doctor  /’  and  Mr.  0 turned  and  moved 

away  as  he  spoke. 

“ My  patients  will  need  attention.  I have  already 
; been  awray  from  them  too  long/’  I replied. 

“You  must  go  with  me,  doctor.  A ease  of  life 
and  death  roles  over  all  others.  Come  f” 

I felt  that  1 dared  not  refuse  to  go.  Vague  sus- 
picions crossed  my  mind.  I followed  Mr.  O — — 
out  and  hurried  by  his  side  to  the  stables  where  he 
kept  his  horses  at  livery. 

“Put  Barney  and  Tom  into  my  light  wagon  as 

quickly  as  possible/’  said  Mr.  O- , “and  see 

well  to  the  harness !” 

The  vehicle  was  soon  ready.  Mr.  0 took  the 

reins,  and  spoke  to  the  horses,  large,  strong  animals, 
and  fleet  of  foot.  They  dashed  ahead  at  a noble 
speed.  I do  not  think  we  were  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  in  going  a distance  of  ten  miles.  Not  a word 
was  spoken  during  the  whole  ride;  and  neither  of 
us  knew  what  was  in  the  mind  of  the  other  except 
by  conjecture.  The  house  in  which  Mrs.  Ruffin  had 
sought  to  hide  herself  from  the  search  of  her  cruel 
persecutor,  was  situated  a short  distance  from  the 
main  road,  and  could  he  seen  from  a point  in  the 
approach,  nearly  two  miles  away.  Fron>  this  point 
the  road  descended  in  a straight  line,  into  a long 
valley,  and  then  rose  by  a gradual  ascent  upon  a 
high  ridge  opposite.  As  we  commenced  descending 
into  this  valley,  we  noticed  a man  riding  at  a swift 
pace  up  the  hill,  directly  in  front  of  us.  My  heart 
gave  a sudden  bound  as  my  eyes  rested  upon  him. 
Were  my  suspicions  indeed  too  true?  The  horse- 
man was  only  visible  for  two  or  three  minutes,  and 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


87 


then  disappeared  just  at  the  point  where  a road  led 
off  to  the  house  in  which  Mrs.  Ruffin  lived. 

An  exclamation  of  alarm  escaped  the  lips  of  Mr. 
0 — — . His  whip  was  applied  to  the  horses  with  a 
smarting  energy  that  caused  them  nearly  to  double 
their  rapid  pace.  Down  the  hill  we  dashed  at  a 
furious  rate,  and  up  the  one  opposite  with  scarcely 
a perceptible  diminution  of  speed.  In  a little  while 
we  were  in  sight  of  the  house.  There  was  a horse 

standing  at  the  gate.  Mr.  0 applied  the  whip 

still  more  vigorously — and  in  a few  minutes  we  were 
there ; as  we  sprung  from  the  wagon,  our  ears  were 
pierced  by  one  of  the  most  heart-rending,  despair- 
ing cries  that  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  hear.  It 
chilled  the  blood  in  my  veins,  and  caused  a cold 
shudder  to  run  over  my  whole  body.  Before  we 
could  reach  the  door,  a man  (it  was  Ruffin  himself) 
emerged  from  the  house,  bearing  little  Ella  in  his 
arms.  Our  presence,  so  unexpected,  confused  him 
for  a moment ; before  he  could  recover  himself,  the 
sharp  crack  of  a pistol  rang  upon  the  air,  and  he 
fell  backward  upon  the  ground.  Ere  the  child  he  held 
in  his  arms  struck  the  earth,  she  was  snatched  away 
by  the  grandfather,  who  rushed  into  the  house,  and 
up  to^his  daughter’s  chamber,  in  order  to  restore 
her  treasure  to  her  arms.  He  was  too  late  ! The 
mother’s  heart  was  broken  ! He  found  her  upon 
the  floor,  to  all  appearances  dead.  She  never  spoke 
again.  Life  rallied  feebly  after  a few  hours,  but 
gradually  declined  from  that  time,  until  the  vital 
spark  went  out  entirely.  She  recovered  her  per- 
ceptions far  enough  to  recognise  her  child,  ever 
whom  she  wept  as  if  her  eyes  were  a fountain  of 


88 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


tears.  She  died,  clasping  the  sweet  young  creature 
in  her  arms. 

When  I saw  Ruffin  fall,  I hurried  to  him,  and 
found  the  blood  flowing  freely  ffrom  his  side.  A 
servant,  whom  the  report  of  the  pistol  brought  to 
the  door,  assisted  me  to  take  him  into  the  house. 
He  was  insensible. 

On  removing  his  clothes  and  examining  the  wound, 
I found  that  the  injury  was  not  at  all  seiious.  The 
ball  had  struck  one  of  his  ribs,  on  the  right  side, 
fracturing  it,  and  then  glanced  upward,  tearing 
away  the  thin  covering  of  flesh,  and  lodging  against 
the  clavicle.  It  was  easily  extracted.  While 
engaged  in  doing  this,  I was  summoned  to  attend 
Mrs.  Ruffin.  I obeyed  this  summons  immediately, 
and  found  her  in  the  state  I have  described.  Per- 
ceiving ihat  her  condition  was  beyond  the  reach  of 
medicine,  I retired  as  quickly  as  possible  to  attend 
to  the  wounded  man  below.  By  the  time  I had 
completed  all  the  required  dressings  he  recovered 
his  senses.  As  soon  as  he  fully  comprehended  where 
he  was,  and  the  circumstances  under  which  he  was 
placed,  he  rose  up  from  the  sofa  upon  which  he  was 
lying,  staggered  toward  the  door,  and,  regardless 
of  all  I could  say,  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  oft". 

When  these  facts  became  known,  on  the  follow- 
ing day,  to  the  court,  all  proceedings  in  the  case 
were  stopped.  But  it  was  too  late — at  least  toe 
late  for  the  heart-broken  mother.  She  could  no 
more  be  affected  by  human  agencies.  She  had  suf- 
fered her  last  pang.  Her  fear,  and  sorrow,  and 
pain  were  at  an  end  for  ever. 

Charles  Ruffin  left  Baltimore  immediately  after 


THE  LONE  OLD  MAN. 


89 


her  death  I have  never  seen  him  since.  He  may 
yet  be  living.  If  so,  wherever  he  is,  he  must  bear 
about  him  a moral  cancer  that  is  eating  daily,  and 
hourly  into  his  heart.  I would  not  have  his  con- 
sciousness for  millions  of  worlds. 


THE  LONE  OLD  MAN. 


Passing  a few  days  in  the  village  of  P , my 

attention  was  attracted  by  the  air  of  neglect  appa- 
rent in  and  around  a tastefully  built  cottage,  that 
seemed  once  to  have  been  the  pride  and  pleasure  of 
its  owner.  Choice  roses  and  fragrant  honey- 
suckles clambered  up  the  white  columns  of  the 
porch,  prodigal  of  sweetness ; but  the  vigorous 
shoots  of  the  one,  and  the  long,  twining  branches 
of  the  other,  swayed  in  the  air,  or  drooped  toward 
the  grovad,  vainly  seeking  for  support.  Evidently, 
not  for  months  had  the  pruning-knife  or  training 
hand  been  busy  there.  Near  by  the  entrance-gate, 
stoo*  two  cone-like  cedars,  tall  and  cleanly  cut — 
but  dead  ; their  brown,  needle-shaped  leaves  shiver- 
ing down  under  the  touch  of  every  passing  breeze, 
and  covering  the  verdureless  ground  beneath.  Grass 
was-  springing  up  in  all  the  pleasant  walks,  and  the 
untrimmed  box  borders  were  ragged  and  neglected. 
Vine  trellises  had  broken  pannels  here  and  there ; 
all  over  the  garden  were  seen  weeds  and  tangled 


8* 


90 


THE  LONE  OLD  MAN. 


undergrowth.  Only  a single  shutter  in  front  of  ch6 
cottnge  was  unfastened,  and  that  stood  always  open, 
early  or  late.  Twice  I had  gone  by  without  seeing 
any  evidence  of  life  about  the  neglected  dwelling  ; 
but  in  passing  the  third  time,  I observed  a white- 
haired  old  man  walking,  with  his  hands  behind  him 
and  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  backward  and  for- 
ward, slowly,  in  one  of  the  grass-grown  walks. 
There  was  something  in  his  appearance  that  was 
inexpressibly  sad.  I looked  at  him  for  a few 
moments,  and  then  kept  on ; but  so  fixed  was  his 
image  in  my  mind,  in  that  brief  period,  that  the 
vivid  impression  still  remains. 

P — — , numbering  one  thousand  inhabitants,  all 
told,  had  three  taverns,  or  places  of  “ Entertainment 
for* Man  and  Beast,”  and  twelve  shops  for  the  retail 
of  liquor.  These  last  were  all  kept  by  Irishmen  and 
Germans.  At  one  of  the  taverns — the  best  in  the 
place,  and  that  isn’t  saying  much  in  its  favour — I 
was  staying.  The  bar  was  well  furnished  with  bad 
liquors,  and  the  bar-room  never  free  from  idlers  and 
tavern-loungers,  mostly  belonging  to  the  village,  as 
could  readily  be  inferred  from  the  tenor  of  their 
conversation.  I did  not  fail  to  remark,  that  scarcely 
one  of  these  persons  spoke  half  a dozen  words  with- 
out an  oath  or  profane  expression  ; and  I also  noted 
the  fact,  that  they  were  never  so  animated  in  con- 
versation as  when  referring  to  something  obscene, 
vile,  or  cruel.  At  temperance  and  virtue  they  scouted ; 
and  even  went  so  far  as  to  allege  scandals  against 
a clergyman  in  the  village,  whom  I knew  to  be  one 
of  the  purest  of  men.  Worst  of  all  was  the  presence 
of  two  or  three  lads  in  the  bar-room,  who  listened 


THE  LONE  OLD  MAN 


91 


to  the  corrupt  conversation  eagerly,  and  drank  in 
all  that  was  said  with  too  evident  pleasure. 

“ Who  lives  in  the  brown  cottage  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  street,  on  this  side?”  I asked  of  the.land- 
lord. 

“ Judge  Williams,”  he  answered,  coldly,  as  he 
turned  away. 

“Who  is  Judge  Williams?”  I inquired,  as  soon 
as  I got  the  landlord’s  ear  again. 

u He’s  one  of  our  judges,”  was  curtly  replied,  and 
again  he  turned  from  me. 

This  only  piqued  my  curiosity. 

“ Do  you  know  Judge  Williams  ?”  I asked  of  a 
rough-looking  man  whom  I had  observed  lounging 
about  the  tavern  ever  since  my  arrival  there,  and 
who  had  just  turned  from  the  bar,  where  he  had 
been  drinking. 

“ I ought  to  know  him — curse  his  picture !” 
answered  the  man,  frowning. 

He  looked  at  me  for  a few  moments,  evidently  to 
see  whether  I meant  to  insult  him  by  the  question, 
and  then  turned,  muttering  something  that  I could 
not  make  out,  and  left  the  bar-room. 

“No  good  blood  in  him  for  Judge  Williams,”  said 
a man  who  had  overheard  my  question. 

“Why  not  ?”  was  my  natural  inquiry. 

“The  judge  gave  him  a year  in  the  State  prison, 
for  biting  off  his  brother’s  ear  in  a drunken  quarrel.” 

“ Ah  ! that  explains  it.  But  what  of  Judge  Wil- 
liams? There’s  something  wrong  about  him,  is 
there  not?” 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  As  he  was 
about  replying,  some  one  called  him.  He  left  me. 


92 


THE  LONE  OLD  MAN. 


Just  then  a boy  came  in  and  scattered  half  a 
dozen  small  printed  handbills  through  the  bar. 

“ What  are  these?”  gruffly  asked  the  landlord. 

“ There’s  to  be  a Maine  Law  meeting  at  the 
Lyceum  Hall  to-night,”  replied  the  boy,  looking 
sideways  at  the  landlord  as  he  spoke.  “ Won’t  you 
come?  Judge  Williams  is  going  to  speak.” 

There  was  impertinence  as  well  humour  in  the 
boy’s  manner.  The  landlord,  hot  with  uncontrolla- 
ble anger,  on  the  instant  uttered  a wicked  impreca- 
tion, and  then  hurled  an  empty  glass  at  his  head. 
The  missile  passed  him  within  an  inch,  and  striking 
the  wall,  was  shattered  into  a hundred  fragments. 
As  the  now  frightened  lad  scampered 'away,  some 
of  the  bar-room  inmates  laughed,  some  looked  grave, 
and  one  or  two  rebuked  the  passionate  man  for  an 
act  which  might  have  resulted  in  murder. 

“ Give  me  them  bills,”  said  the  landlord,  coming 
hastily  from  behind  his  bar.  Gathering  up  as 
many  of  the  printed  slips  of  paper  as  he  could  get 
his  hands  upon,  he  tore  them  into  shreds,  with  vio- 
lent gestures  and  oaths,  and  then  threw  them  into 
the  street.  Two  or  three  remained  in  possession  of 
those  who,  like  myself,  declined  yielding  them  up 
to  the  incensed  individual  who  considered  himself 
particularly  insulted  by  their  intrusion  on  his  pre- 
mises. 

Next  came,  as  a very  natural  result,  a discussion, 
among  the  bar-room  loungers,  of  the  Maine  Law 
question.  The  landlord  was  too  much  excited  to 
think  clearly  or  talk  coherently  ; so  he  only  used 
profane  expletives.  Some  ridiculed  the  whole  move- 
ment as  preposterous : some  cursed  the  leaders,  and 


THE  LONE  OLD  MAN. 


some  ma  le  themselves  merry  at  the  expense  of  the 
cold-water  men.  Nearly  all  present  had  indulged 
their  particular  humour  on  the  subject,  and  conversa- 
tion was  beginning  to  flag,  when  a young  man  whom 
I had  noticed  as  sadly  fallen,  yet  retaining  traces 
of  better  condition  and  higher  intelligence  than  any 
around  him,  arose  by  a table  at  which  he  had  been 
half  crouching,  and  extending  one  hand  in  an  ener- 
getic manner,  said — 

“You  may  all  talk  as  you  please,  but  I see  no 
hope  but  in  the  Maine  Law.” 

“ There,  now,  Dick  Thomas ! do  you  just  hush 
up.  Nobody  asked  for  your  opinion,  and  nobody 
wants  it.” 

The  man  turned  quickly  to  the  landlord,  who  had 
thus  roughly  interrupted  him,  and  after  fixing  his 
eyes  sharply  upon  him  for  some  moments,  retorted — 
“ You  may  rob  us  of  reason  and  virtue ; but  of 
free  speech — never  ! You’ve  all  had  your  say,  and 
now  I’m  going  to  have  mine.  If  you  don’t  wish  to 
listen,  you  can  retire.” 

“You’ve  got  to  retire,  young  man!”  exclaimed 
the  landlord,  his  face  again  hot  with  anger ; and  as 
he  said  this,  he  came  hastily  from  behind  the  bar, 
and  advancing  toward  the  object  of  his  wrath, 
assumed  a menacing  attitude.  “ Go,  this  instant, 
or  I will  pitch  you  head  foremost  into  the  street.” 

“ I wish  you  would  put  a hand  on  me,”  said  the 
othor,  in  a hissing  voice.  There  was  murder  in  his 
eye,  and  an  iron  resolution  in  his  tone.  For 
several  moments  the  two  men  glared  savagely  at 
each  other:  then  the  landlord  retired  behind  the 
bar. 


94 


THE  LONE  OLD  MAN. 


“ Be  content  with  your  place  there,  and  your 
work  there,  old  fellow  !”  said  the  young  man,  with 
a bitter  sneer,  “but  don’t  attempt  what  is  beyond 
your  ability.”  Then  turning  to  the  company,  he 
repeated  the  words  spoken  a little  while  before, 
and  in  the  earnest,  impressive  manner  at  first 
apparent. 

“You  may  all  talk  as  you  please,”  he  said,  “but 
I see  no  hope  but  in  the  Maine  Law. ' And  there 
is  no  other  hope  for  such  as  me.  Ten  times  have 
I taken  the  pledge,  and  God  knows  it  wras  taken  in 
all  sincerity ! But  with  vitiated  appetite,  and 
temptation  ever  in  my  path,  how  was  I to  stand  ? 
Keep  liquor  out  of  my  sight,  and  I can  do  well 
enough  ; but  with  a tavern  or  groggery  at  every 
corner,  the  case  is  hopeless.  I voted  for  the  Maine 
Law  at  the  last  election,  and  if  I live  to  visit  the 
polls  again,  my  ballot  shall  be  cast  on  the  side  of 
virtue,  order,  and  sobriety.  Whatacursed  infatua- 
tion— what  a blinding  folly  this  drinking  is  ! Are 
you,  or  you,  or  you,  any  the  better  for  it !”  turning 
quickly  from  one  to  another,  as  he  uttered  these 
words.  “ I will  not  pause  for  your  answer,  4 No’ — 
your  faces  give  a feeble  negative;  but  your  whole 
appearance  responds,  trumpet-tongued,  ‘No — no — 
no.’  Ah,  my  friends ! I know  how  it  is  with  myself, 
and  I know  how  it  is  with  you.  While  this  man- 
trap  is  ever  in  the  way,  our  feet  must  stumble. 
What  hope  for  us  is  here  ? None — none.  There 
sits  the  great  lazy  spider,  his  web  nicely  spread 
abroad,  and  we,  the  poor  victims,  cannot  go  by 
without  getting  hopelessly  entangled.  All  ever  the 
land  are  these  spiders  and  their  webs,  and  there  is 


THE  LONE  OLD  MAN, 


95 


no  besom  to  sweep  them  aside.  Give  us  the  Maine 
Law,  and  we  have  a broom  that  will  do  the  work 
effectually.  I go  for  this  law,  gentlemen  ! And  I 
am  going  to  the  meeting  to-night.  Judge  Williams 
is  to  speak.  Poor  man  ! He  will  speak  in  vain;,  for 
all  the  good  speaking  will  do  him;  but  if  he  doesn’t 
stir  all  hearts  to  their  lowest  depths,  call  Dick 
Thomas  a fool !” 

44  You’ll  give  ’em  a speech,  too,  wmn’t  you?”  said 
the  landlord,  in  impotent  contempt. 

44  If  you’re  there,  I will,”  retorted  Thomas.  44 1 
couldn’t  have  a better  subject  than  the  spider  and 
the  fly.” 

A shout  of  applause  from  the  rude  inmates  of  the 
bar-room  answered  this  cutting  speech ; and  under 
the  governing  impulse  of  the  moment,  it  was  voted 
to  attend  the  Maine  Law  meeting  in  a body. 

44  You’d  better  drink  all  round  to  bolster  up  good 
resolution,”  said  the  landlord,  forcing  a laugh.  He 
had  sense  enough  to  see  the  folly  of  quarrelling  with 
ilia  customers,  and  so  repressed  his  irritation. 

44  Not  a bad  idea,”  quickly  answered  one  of  the 
company ; and  in  a moment  the  fickle  crew  were  at 
the  counter,  and  the  landlord  as  busy  as  he  could 
be  in  mixing  his  tempting  poisons  for  their  lips, 
I turned  off,  sad  at  the  sight,  and  left  the  bar- 
room. 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  evening,  I was  at  Lyceum 
Hall.  The  room  was  nearly  filled  on  my  arrival ; 
but  I managed  to  get  a place  near  the  speaker’s 
stand. 

44  Judge  Williams  is  to  speak,”  I heard  whispered 
behind  me.  This  seemed  the  leading  attraction  of 


96 


THE  LONE  OLH  MAN. 


the  evening.  Who  Judge  Williams  was,  or  what 
the  particular  interest  attaching  to  him,  I had  not 
jet  learned.  That  a blight  was  on  him  in  his  old 
age,  was  plain  ; but  where  and  what  the  blight  was, 
I could  infer  but  vaguely. 

The  meeting  was  organized  in  due  form,  and 
resolutions  offered  approving  the  Maine  Law,  and 
calling  upon  the  legislature  of  the  state  to  enact 
one  similar  in  its  provisions.  Then  came  a pause 
of  expectation.  The  old  man  I had  thought  to  see 
on  the  stand  was  not  there.  I looked  around  the 
room,  but  failed  to  recognise  him.  Others  seemed 
in  like  expectation  with  myself.  There  was  now  a 
movement  near  the  door.  I turned  with  the  rest  of 
the  audience,  and  saw  the  pale,  thin,  intelligent 
face  of  the  old  man  I had  noticed  at  the  brown 
cottage. 

u There  is  Judge  Williams, ” I heard  passing  from 
lip  to  lip.  He  moved  slowly  along  the  aisle  until 
he  reached  the  platform,  which  he  ascended,  and 
took  a chair  near  the  president  of  the  meeting. 

“ The  secretary  will  read  the  resolutions  again,” 
said  the  chairman. 

The  resolutions  were  accordingly  read.  A brief 
silence  followed,  and  then  Judge  Williams  arose  in 
a slow,  dignified  manner.  A little  while  he  stood  ; 
his  fine  eyes,  that  seemed  to  light  up  his  whole  face, 
wandering  over  the  audience.  All  was  as  still  as  if 
there  had  not  been  a living  soul  in  the  room. 

uMy  friends,” — his  voice  was  low,  and  trembled 
slightly, — “ I meet  you  this  evening  in  public 
assemblage,  for  the  first  time  in  many  months.  I 
may  never  meet  you  again.  A lonely  old  man, 


THE  LONE  OLD  MAN. 


97 


with  all  hope  in  life  gone,  I am  a lingerer  here  only 
for  a little  while.  Soon,  the  places  that  have  seen 
me  will  see  me  no  more.  I shall  pass  the  bourn 
from  which  no  traveller  returns — and  pass  it,  I feel, 
right  early.  I have  been  among  you  for  many 
years ; and  in  all  my  public  life  I have,  in  the  fear 
of  God,  sought  tc  judge  rightly  between  my  fellow 
men.  To  err  is  human — therefore  I have  not  been 
free  from  error ; but  the  merit  of  a good  intention  I 
must,  in  justice,  claim. 

“My  friends,  look  at  me  as  I stand  before  you 
to-night, ” and  he  advanced  a few  paces  on  the  plat- 
form. u This  head  is  whiter  than  it  was  a year 
ago — this  hand  not  so  steady — this  poor  body  less 
firm  and  erect.  I am  a shattered  wreck  on  the  sea 
of  life ; the  last  frail  vessel  of  a goodly  fleet  that 
went  down  in  the  pitiless  tempest.  How  vainly  did 
I search  for  a harbour,  when  I saw  the  storm 
gathering ; but  there  was  none  in  which  we  might 
ride  in  safety. 

“ Fellow  citizens  !” — his  form  was  now  more  erect, 
and  his  tones  firmer  and  deeper — “ turn  your  thoughts 
back  for  twenty  years,  such  of  you  as  can  recall 
events  for  so  long  a period.  Did  I not  then  say  to 
you  that  licensed  drinking-houses  would  be  a curse 
to  our  beautiful  village  ? Did  I not  then  urge, 
warn,  implore  you  on  the  subject,  and  with  all  the 
little  eloquence  I possessed  ? Did  I not  then  declare 
it  as  my  belief  that,  as  a body  of  citizens,  united  in 
corporate  form  to  secure  our  mutual  well-being,  it 
was  our  duty  to  guard  the  weak  and  the  youthful 
from  the  fascination  of  drink,  by  prohibiting  the 
sale  of  intoxicating  liquors  in  our  village  ? We  had 

0 


98 


THE  LOIS' E OLD  MAN. 


as  much  the  right  to  do  this,  as  the  right  to  restrict 
or  prohibit  the  sale  of  poison.  It  was  a measure  of 
self-protection  as  legitimate  as  any  other.  Who 
was  to  be  wronged  by  it  ? The  man  who,  too  idle 
to  work,  sought  to  live  by  corrupting  his  neighbours, 
and  sowing  broadcast  the  seeds  of  vice,  crime,  depra- 
vity, and  eternal  death?  No;  not  even  he  was  to 
suffer  wrong ! Better  far,  even  for  him,  that  he 
should  be  compelled  to  do  service  in  society  in  order 
to  get  his  bread.  In  every  view,  therefore,  the 
restriction  I then  urged  was  the  right  one.  But 
you,  my  fellow-citizens,  called  my  reasoning  falla- 
cious, and  me  visionary  or  tyrannical. 

“Well,  in  the  twenty  years  which  have  passed 
since  I first  advocated  an  entire  restriction  of  the 
sale  here,  I have  seen  more  than  twenty  of  our  most 
promising  young  men — some  of  their  gray-haired 
fathers  are  here  to-night — thrust  down  into  drunk- 
ard’s graves.  Why,  my  friends,”— he  spoke  now  i 
with  a sudden,  indignant  energy, — “ one  of  those 
young  men,  with  his  intellect  undimmed,  would  have 
been  worth  a thousand  of  the  miserable  wretches 
who  destroyed  them,  and  for  whose  maintenance 
you  so  generously  provided  the  trade  of  dram-sell- 
ing. How  my  heart  swells  and  throbs,  and  almost 
suffocates  me  with  indignation  at  the  thought.  But, 
ah  ! how  impotently  !” 

Mournful,  very  low  and  mournful  were  these  last 
W'ords. 

“Well,  my  friends,”  he  resumed,  after  a pause; 

“ to  protect  and  support  the  idle,  vicious  dram-seller, 
you  sacrificed  the  rising  hope  of  your  village.  Unto 
this  bloody  Moloch  you  brought  your  sons.  For 


THE  LONE  OLD  MAN. 


95 


twcmty  years  I have  sat  on  .he  Bench ; and  1 will 
say  now,  before  God  and  man,  that  in  nine  cases  out 
of  ten,  every  crime  and  outrage  which  has  taken 
place  during  that  period,  in  this  county,  was  trace- 
able, directly  or  indirectly,  to  the  use  of  intoxicating 
drinks. 

“ And  the  history  of  crime  all  over  our  land  gives 
but  a parallel  testimony.  And  yet  the  rumseller  is 
protected  in  his  accursed  traffic — is  regularly  licensed 
to  destroy  the  bodies  and  souls  of  your  neighbours 
and  children ; and  if  we,  all  whose  hopes  in  life  are 
blasted  by  this  evil,  lift  our  voices  against  it,  and 
ask  for  its  suppression  by  the  firm  hand  of  the  law, 
we  are  branded  with  coarse  epithets,  and  called 
visionary,  and  fanatical  disturbers  of  settled  order. 

“ Show  me  any  good  that  has  been  done  in  P — — 
by  dram-drinking.  Show  me  a man  made  more 
virtuous  and  thrifty — a better  husband,  father,  and 
% citizen.  Bring  him  here  to-night,  and  let  us  look 
upon  him.  Where  is  he  ? Alas ! he  is  not  to  be 
found.  You  cannot  show  the  good,  but  the  evil. 
God  help  us  ! It  is  everywhere  ! 

My  friends,  you  all  know  that  I and  mine  have 
be^n  cursed  with  this  curse ; but  how  deeply,  few 
have  imagined.  Let  me  lift  the  curtain  for  you  to- 
night— lift  it  for  a moment,  and  then  let  it  fall  for 
ever.  Three  sons  grew  up  to  manhood.  True- 
hearted, clear-minded  they  were,  and  full  of  promise 
for  the  future.  One  studied  law,  one  medicine,  md 
the  other  chose  the  life  of  a farmer.  I used  no 
intoxicating  drinks  in  my  house,  and  yet  these 
three  goodly  sons  sleep  in  drunkards’  graves. 
Beyond  my  own  house  I could  not  protect  them. 


100 


THE  LONE  OLD  MAN. 


Temptation  was  on  every  hand;  temptation  sanc- 
tioned by  law,  and  made  respectable  through  the 
blind  favour  of.  men  whose  position  gave  influence  to 
r their  precept  and  example.  Like  other  young  men, 
they  had  their  weaknesses  ; like  other  young  men, 
they  thought  lightly  of  warning  ; like  other  young 
men,  they  moved  pleasantly  along  in  the  smooth 
current  of  the  world,  all  unheeding  the  danger  by 
which  they  were  surrounded,  until  resistance  to  the 
downward  course  was  hopeless. 

u Three  years  ago,  the  eldest  was  thrust  from  one 
of  your  taverns,  at  a late  hour  of  the  night,  and 
falling  on  the  pavement,  received  a wound  on  the 
head  that  produced  insanity.  He  is  since  dead. 
The  second,  after  six  months’  abstinence,  was  enticed 
into  the  same  den  of  evil,  by  some  wicked  men  who 
knew  his  weakness.  He  fell,  never  to  rise  again. 
Unhappy  young  man  ! How  hard  he  struggled  with 
his  appetite  ! Oh ! how  bitterly  I have  seen  him 
weep — how  earnestly  I have  heard  him  pray,  in  the 
lonely  night-watch,  for  strength ; yet  he  died  while 
the  mad  fever  of  intoxication  was  in  his  brain. 

“ The  third,  my  youngest  son — his  mother’s  idol 
— he,  too,  went  the  same  way.  Of  all  my  sons,  he 
alone  married.  The  purest,  fondest,  sweetest  cf 
women  was  the  dear  child  he  brought  away  from 
her  warm  nest  at  home,  to  grace  and  brighten  our 
household.  We  had  no  daughter  of  our  own;  and 
so,  all  the  love  in  our  hearts  a daughter  would  have 
called  forth,  was  lavished  upon  this  beautiful  dove. 
I need  not  describe  her  to  you,  for  you  have  seen 
her,  and  many  of  you  loved  her.  But  she  is  at 
rest.” 


THE  LONE  OLD  MAN. 


101 


The  old  man’s  voice  choked.  For  a little  while 
he  stood  silent,  unable,  from  irrepressible  emotion, 
to  proceed.  At  last  he  said,  in  a husky  whisper — 
u She  is  at  rest  now.  Let  me,  as  calmly  as  I am 
able,  tell  you  how  she  passed  away.  It  was  not 
peacefully  and  sweetly  as  an  infant  sinks  to  sleep 
in  its  mother’s  arms.  Ah,  no ! — no ! Her  death 
was  violent !” 

What  a thrill  passed  through  the  assembly ! 
White  faces  bent  forward  eagerly,  and  breaths  were 
held  in  appalled  expectation. 

u She  was  murdered  by  her  husband !” 

The  old  man  sunk  into  a chair,  while  a groan  rose 
from  the  assembly. 

“ No  good  end  is  to  be  gained  by  concealment,” 
resumed  Judge  Williams,  as  he  arose  and  in  a firmer 
voice  went  on — “ if  the  revelation  spur  you  to  action, 
all  I desire  is  accomplished.  My  son  came  home 
one  night,  less  than  a year  ago,  intoxicated,  after  a 
longer  period  of  sobriety  than  usual.  He  had  never 
treated  his  wife  with  personal  unkindness.  If  she 
remonstrated  with  him,  he  showed  no  irritation; 
and  often,  through  her  influence,  would  make  tempo- 
rary efforts  at  reformation.  He  had  passed  to  her 
room  only  a short  time,  when  I heard  a momentary 
shuffling  of  feet,  and  a smothered  exclamation. 
There  was  something  in  the  sound  that  caused  me 
to  start  up  and  listen.  But  nothing  more  was  heard 
for  at  least  five  minutes,  when  I was  aroused  by  the 
falling  of  a heavy  body  in  their  chamber.  I repaired 
thither  on  the  instant.  Sight  of  horror ! My  son 
lay  dying,  in  his  own  blood,  on  the  floor ; the  fatal 
razor  with  which  the  death  deed  was  done,  clutched 

9* 


102 


THE  LOXE  OLD  MATS. 


in  his  hand.  You  all  remember  this  dreadful 
tragedy.  But  there  was  something  more  dreadful 
still,  of  which  you  have  never  been  told.  Ere  turn- 
; ing  his  hand  upon  himself,  my  son  smothered  w ith 
•pillows  the ” 

The  old  man  staggered  back,  and  sat  down 
again. 

“ God  help  me !”  he  resumed,  after  a moment  or 
twro.  UI  cannot  say  more.  We  buried  them  side 
by  side ; but  we  were  broken-hearted.  A few  weeks 
more,  and  my  poor  wife  followed  them,  leaving  me  a 
lonely  old  man,  all  the  green  branches  of  the  tree 
withered,  and  the  root  nearly  sapless  and  dead. 

“What  need  is  there  for  me  to  say  more  ?”  be 
added,  after  a pause,  “ I have  shown  you  the  bit- 
ter fruits  of  the  traffic.  Look  at  them.  Reason  of 
them  among  yourselves,  and  make  your  own  deci- 
sion. If  you  continue  to  sow  the  seed  you  are  how 
sowing,  you  must  expect  no  better  harvest.  On  me 
the  evil  has  done  its  worst.  But  for  the  sake  of 
your  children  and  neighbours,  let  me  implore  you 
to  turn  aside  from  your  beautiful  village  this  tor- 
rent of  vice  that  is  yearly  sweeping  its  scores  to 
destruction.” 

There  were  few  dry  eyes  in  the  assembly  when 
Judge  Williams  sat  down ; and  it  hardly  need  be 
told  here,  that  the  resolutions  were  passed  by  accla- 
mation. At  my  next  visit  to  P — , the  brown  cot- 

tage had  found  another  owner,  and  the  lonely  old 
man  was  sleeping  in  the  village  graveyard. 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE. 


Two  brothers  met  after  an  absence  of  many 
years.  One  of  them  had  remained  at  home,  or, 
rather,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  their  early  home. 
The  other  sought,  in  a distant  country,  the  wealth 
he  saw  no  opportunity  to  acquire  in  the  pleasant 
village  where  his  eyes  first  opened  upon  the  light. 
But  the  beauty  of  mountain,  valley,  lake,  and  breezy 
woodland  had  indeUHy  impressed  his  spirit,  and 
now,  disappointed  with  the  world — though  the 
world  had  given  him  riches — he  had  returned, 
under  the  vain  delusion  that  here  he  would  find 
that  tranquillity  and  contentment  which,  thus  far 
in  life,  he  had  failed  to  secure.  We  say  delusion — 
for,  like  other  men,  he  carried  in  his  bosom  the  ele- 
ments of  his  dissatisfaction,  which  no  mere  change 
of  place  could  remove.  It  was  innocent  childhood 
that  made  him  happy  in  that  old  home  to  which  he 
now  returned ; but  childhood  had  passed  forever. 
He  came  back,  not  with  the  perceptions  and  capa- 
bilities of  a child,  but  with  the  unsatisfied  yearnings 
of  a man.  Ah  ! hovr  changed  wTas  all ; changed, 
and  yet  the  same.  There  was  the  landscape,  in  all 
its  varied  attraction  of  wood  and  river  and  moun- 
tain, but  to  him  its  beauty  had  departed.  He  wan- 
dered away  to  the  old  haunts,  but  their  spell  wTas 
gone.  He  could  have  wept  in  the  bitterness  of  his 
disappointment 

103 


104 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE 


u You  look  troubled,  Edward,  ” remarked  bis  bro« 
ther,  on  the  day  succeeding  his  return. 

u Do  I,  William  ?”  he  said,  with  a forced  smile. 
f“  It  should  not  be  so,  for  I have  no  trouble  to  weigh 
down  my  spirits.’ ’ 

Yet,  even  while  he  spoke,  the  feeble  light  faded 
from  his  countenance. 

How  strongly  contrasted  were  the  two  brothers! 
The  one  having  but  little  of  this  world’s  goods ; the 
other  possessing  large  wTealth.  The  one  bearing  on 
his  brow  an  ever-cheerful  expression ; the  other  a 
look  of  self-weariness  and  discontent. 

In  a few  days,  Edward  announced  his  intention 
to  purchase  a handsome  estate  offered  for  sale  in 
the  village,  and  remove  his  family  thither.  He  had 
been  in  many  places,  but  none  pleased  him  like  this. 
Here,  if  anywhere  in  the  world,  he  believed  he 
would  find  that  repose  of  mind  he  had  sought  for  so 
long,  yet  vainly. 

Accordingly,  the  estate  was  purchased,  and,  in  due 

time,  Edward  J brought  his  family,  consisting 

of  his  wife  and  three  children — two  sons  and  ai 
daughter — to  reside  in  the  pleasant  village  of  Glen- 
wood. 

Not  a very  long  time  passed  before  William  J — — 
saw  that  his  brother  was  far  from  being  a happy 
man.  The  cause,  to  a close  observer  like  himself, 
was  clearly  apparent.  Edward  was  a very  selfish 
man — and  such  men  are  always  unhappy.  While 
in  the  pursuit  of  a desired  object,  the  mind,  from 
anticipation  and  its  ow7n  activity,  may  be  pleasantly 
excited.  But  when  the  object  is  gained,  and  men- 
tal activity  declines,  there  succeeds  a state  of  op- 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE. 


105 


pressive  disquietude.  Selfishness,  like  the  horse- 
leech’s daughter,  for  ever  cries,  64  Give,  give,”  and 
for  ever  remains  unsatisfied. 

In  the  possession  of  wealth,  Edward  J fully 

believed  happiness  was  to  be  found.  In  seeking  to 
gain  wealth,  he  had  thought  little  of  the  interests 
of  others.  Not  that  he  recklessly  trampled  on  his 
neighbours’  rights,  or  wrested  from  the  weak  what 
was  lawfully  their  own.  His  mercantile  pride — 
honour  he  would  have  called  it — prevented  such 
lapses  from  integrity.  But,  as  he  moved  onward, 
with  something  like  giant  strides,  conscious  of  his 
own  strength,  he  had  no  sympathy  for  the  less  for- 
tunate, and  never  once  paused  to  lift  a fallen  one, 
or  to  aid  a feeble  toiler  on  the  way  of  life.  No 
generous  principles  belonged  to  the  code  of  ethics 
by  which  he  was  governed.  Benevolence  he  ac- 
counted a weakness,  and  care  for  others’  interests 
the  folly  of  a class,  less  to  be  commended  than  cen- 
sured. u Let  every  man  mind  his  own  business, 
and  every  man  take  care  of  himself,”  he  would 
sometimes  say.  44  Help  yourself  is  the  world’s  best 
motto.  This  constant  preaching  up  of  benevolence 
and  humanity  only  makes  idlers  and  dependants.” 

Edward  J fully  acted  out  his  principles. 

And  so,  for  future  enjoyment,  he  had  only  laid  up 
wealth.  In  all  his  business  life,  there  was  not  a 
single  green  spot  watered  by  the  tears  of  benevo- 
lence, or  warmed  by  the  sunshine  of  gratitude,  back 
to  which  thought  could  go,  and  find  delight  in  the 
remembrance.  All  was  a dull,  dead  blank  of  money- 
getting,  the  recollection  of  wlvch  gave  more  pain 
than  pleasure.  , 


106 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE. 


No  wonder  that,  after  the  excitement  of  removal, 
and  the  interested  state  of  mind  attendant  upon  the 
fitting  up  of  a new  home,  the  mind  of  Edward 

J receded  again  to  its  state  of  disquietude,  or 

that  the  old  shadows  deepened  once  more  on  his 
brow. 

How  broadly  contrasted  was  the  stately  mansion 
he  occupied  with  the  humble  cottage  in  which  his 
brother  resided,  and  to  which,  in  self-weariness,  he 
often  repaired.  Yet,  so  selfishly  did  he  love  his 
own,  that  never  an  impulse  of  generosity  toward 
this  brother  stirred,  even  for  a moment,  the  dead 
surface  of  humanity’s  waters  lying  stagnant  in  his 
bosom.  If  he  thought  of  his  humble  circumstances 
at  all,  it  was  with  something  of  shame  that  one  so 
nearly  related  should  occupy  so  low  a position. 

One  morning,  Edward  called  upon  William  J , 

and  with  unusual  animation  said — 

“ I have  just  made  a valuable  discovery. ” 

“ Ah  ! What  is  it  ?”  inquired  his  brother. 

“Y"ou  know  the  beautiful  side-slope  of  land  just 
beyond  my  meadow?” 

“Where  Morgan  lives?”  said  William. 

“YTes.  There  are  some  ten  acres,  finely  situated, 
exceedingly  fertile,  and  in  a high  state  of  cultiva- 
tion.” 

“ Well  ?^  William  looked,  inquiringly,  at  his 
brother. 

“ That  piece  of  ground  belongs,  unquestionably, 
to  my  estate.” 

“What!”  The  brother  was  startled  at  this  an- 
nouncement • for  he  saw  a purpose  in  Edward’s 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE. 


107 


mind  to  claim  it  as  his  own,  if  he  could  prove  that 
the  right  referred  to  did  actually  exist. 

“ That  piece  of  ground  is  mine.” 

“ Why  do  you  say  so  ?” 

64  It  originally  belonged  to  the  property  I have 
purchased.” 

44  I know  it  did.  But  Morgan  bought  it  from  the 
former  owner,  more  than  fifteen  years  ago.” 

44  But  never  met  his  payments,  and  never  got  a 
full  title.” 

4k  How  do  you  know  that  ?” 

44  I have  the  information  from  good  authority — 
the  best,  I presume,  in  the  county.” 

44  From  whom  ?” 

44  Aldridge.  And  he  says  he  can  recover  it  for 


me. 


5 > 


44  Did  you  purchase  it,  Edward?”  asked  William, 
looking  steadfastly  into  the  countenance  of  his  bro- 
ther. 

64 1 purchased  Glenwood,  and  all  the  rights  and 
appurtenances  thereto  belonging,  and  this  I find 
to  be,  legally,  a portion  of  the  estate — and  a valu- 
able one.  It  is  mine — and  it  has  been  one  of  my 
maxims  in  life  always  to  claim  my  own.” 

An  indignant  rebuke  was  on  the  tongue  of  Wil- 
liam J , but  he  repressed  its  utterance,  for 

estrangement,  and  consequent  loss  of  influence, 
would  have  been  the  sure  consequence. 

44  Before  taking  any  steps  in  this  matter,”  he 
said,  44  look  very  minutely  into  the  history  of  the 
transaction  between  Morgan  and  the  previous  owner 
of  Glenwood,  the  late  Mr.  Erskin.  Morgan  was 
his  gardener,  and  had  laid  Mr.  Erskin  under  a debt 


/ 


108  A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE. 


of  gratitude,  by  saving  the  life  of  an  only  son  at 
the  imminent  risk  of  his  own.  As  some  return,  he 
offered  him  the  cottage  in  which  he  lived,  and  the 
ten  acres  of  ground  by  which  it  was  surrounded,  at 
a very  moderate  valuation,  Morgan  to  pay  him  a 
small  sum,  agreed  upon,  every  year.  The  place 
was  actually  worth  t^ree  or  four  times  what  Mor- 
gan was  to  give  for  Mr.  Erskin  at  first  thought 
of  transferring  it  to  him  as  a free-will  offering,  but 
he  believed  the  benefit  would  be  really  greater,  if 
Morgan,  by  industry,  economy,  and  self-denial, 
earned  and  saved  sufficient  to  pay  what  was  asked 
for  the  property.  At  the  end  of  a year  the  gar- 
dener brought  the  money  due  as  the  first  instal- 
ment. Mr.  Erskin  felt  a reluctance  to  take  it,  and, 
after  questioning  him  as  to  the  product  of  the  farm, 
finally  told  him  to  expend  the  money  in  an  improve- 
ment designated  by  himself.  Sickness,  and  bad 
crops,  during  the  next  year,  prevented  the  payment 
of  the  second  instalment.  The  third  and  fourth 
years  were  more  prosperous.  The  only  sums  paid 
to  Mr.  Erskin  were  received  by  him  during  these 
years.  ” 

“So  I am  informed,”  said  Edward.  “And  I 
learn,  further,  that  no  transfer  of  the  property  waa 
ever  made  in  due  legal  form.  Mr.  Erskin  died  in- 
testate.” 

“ He  did  ; and  his  son  came  by  heirship  into  pos- 
session of  all  his  property.” 

“ And  he,  dying  a few  years  later,  disposed  of 
the  estate  by  will.” 

“Not  naming  Morgan’s  farm,”  said  William, 
“ which  he  fully  believed  had  be*m,  during  his 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE. 


109 


father’s  lifetime,  properly  transferred  to  the  present 
possessor.” 

“A  very  serious  mistake,  as  Morgan  will  find,” 
said  Edward. 

“ You  will  not  question  his  title  to  the  property, 
Edward?” 

“ I assuredly  w7ill.” 

“ He  has  a large  family.  It  is  his  all.” 

“ No  matter.  He  has  never  paid  for  it,  and  it  is 
not,  therefore,  his  property.  Glenwood  is  just  so 
much  the  less  valuable  by  the  abstraction  of  this 
portion,  and  I am,  in  consequence,  the  sufferer. 
Had  he  paid  for  the  land,  as  he  had  engaged  to  do, 
the  money  would,  most  probably,  have  been  ex- 
pended in  improvements.  So,  you  see,  my  rights 
are  clear.” 

“Ah,  brother!  you  cannot  find  it  in  your  heart 
to  ruin  this  worthy  man.  He  has  a large  family, 
dependent  on  the  product  of  his  farm,  which  barely 
suffices  to  give  them  a comfortable  living.” 

“ I have  no  desire  to  ruin  him,  William.  But  he 
has  no  right  to  my  property.  If  Morgan  wishes  to 
remain  where  he  is,  I will  not,  for  the  present,  dis- 
turb him.  But  he  must  pay  me  an  annual  rent.” 
As  mildly  as  possible,  yet  very  earnestly,  did 

William  J urge  a different  course  of  action 

upon  his  brother ; but  with  no  good  effect.  Legal 
measures  wTere  early  taken,  and  due  notice  served 
upon  Morgan,  who,  on  submitting  his  papers  to  a 
lawTyer,  was  appalled  to  learn  that  they  contained  in- 
formalities and  defects,  clearly  invalidating  his  title. 
In  a state  of  much  alarm  and  excitement,  he  called 

upon  William  J , and  implored  him  to  use  his 

10 


no 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE. 


influence  with  his  brother  to  stop  the  unrighteous 
proceeding.  William  could  not  give  him  much  en- 
couragement, though  his  heart  ached  for  the  un- 
happy man.  It  so  happened  that  Morgan  passed 
from  William  J ’s  place  of  business,  as  the  bro- 

ther entered.  The  two  men  had  never  met;  and 
the  rich  owner  of  Glenwmod  did  not  know,  by  sight, 
the  individual  whose  farm  he  coveted. 

“ Who  is  that  man?”  he  inquired,  in  a voice  of 
surprise. 

“ Why  do  you  ask  ?” 

“What  ails  him?  His  face  was  pale  as  ashes, 
and  his  eyes  wild  like  those  of  one  in  terror,  or  de- 
ranged.” 

44  He  is  in  great  distress.” 

44  From  wThat  cause  ? Has  he  committed  a crime? 
Are  the  minions  of  justice  at  his  heels  ?” 

“ No.  He  is  a man  of  blameless  life — not  as 
careful  ns  he  should  have  been  in  the  management 
of  his  affairs.  Upon  a sudden,  he  finds  himself  on 
the  brink  of  ruin.  He  put  too  much  faith  in  the 
w7orld.  He  thought  too  well  of  his  fellowr-men.” 

46  A common  fault,”  was  the  sententious  answer. 
“ But  what  of  this  man  ? Something  in  his  face  has 
interested  me.  Can  I aid  him  in  his  troubles?” 

44  Yes,  brother,  you  can  aid  him,  and  at  no  loss 
to  yourself.  No  loss,  did  I say?  Rather  let  me 
say,  to  your  infinite  gain.” 

44  What  do  you  mean?  Infinite  gain!  You 
make  use  of  a very  strong  word,  William.” 

“ I do ; yet,  with  a full  appreciation  of  its  mean- 
ing. Every  thing  gained  to  true  happiness  is  an  in- 
finite gain.  Believe  me.  there  are  few  sources  of 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE. 


Ill 


human  pleasure  so  lasting  as  the  memory  of  a good 
deed.  What  we  seek,  with  only  a selfish  regard  to 
our  own  enjoyment,  loses  its  charm  with  possession. 
This  is  the  life-experience  of  every  one.  But  ths 
benefits  we  confer  upon  others,  bless  in  a perpetual 
remembrance  of  the  delight  we  have  created.” 

Only  a dim  perception  of  what  this  meant 
dawned  upon  the  mind  of  Edward.  Yet,  a few 
rays  of  light  streamed  in  upon  his  moral  darkness. 

“ The  blessing  of  a good  deed,  brother  Edward  I” 
said  William,  speaking  with  something  of  enthusiasm 
in  his  manner — did  you  ever  think  what  a depth 
of  meaning  was  in  the  words?  Generous,  noble, 
unselfish  actions  are  like  perennial  springs,  sending 
forth  sweet  and  fertilizing  waters.  How  much  they 
lose  who,  having  the  power  to  do  good,  lack  the 
generous  impulse.” 

“All  very  well,  and  very  true,  no  doubt,”  said 
the  rich  brother,  with  a slight  air  of  impatience. 
“But  you  haven’t  told  me  of  the  individual  in 
whose  case  you  desire  to  interest  me.” 

“His  name  is  Morgan,”  was  answered. 
“Morgan!”  ,An  instant  change  was  visible  in 
Edward  J . His  face  flushed;  his  brow  con- 

tracted, and  his  eyes  grew  stern. 

“Remember,  my  brother,”  said  William,  in  a 
calm,  yet  earnest  and  affectionate  voice,  “ that  God 
has  bestowed  upon  you,  of  this  world’s  goods,  more 
than  sufficient  to  supply  all  your  real  wants ; while 
to  this  poor  man  he  has  given  what  barely  suffices, 
with  care  and  labour,  to  supply  food,  raiment,  and 
an  humble  home  for  his  wife  and  little  ones.  You 
have  6 flocks  and  herds’ — do  not  take  his  ‘little 


112 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE. 


ewe-lamb.’  Remember  David  and  the  prophet  Na- 
than.” 

“ Good  morning !”  said  Edward,  turning  off,  sud- 
denly, and  leaving  his  brother. 

What  a conflict  in  the  rich  man’s  mind  did  this 
incident  and  conversation  arouse ! The  white,  ter- 
rified face  of  poor  Morgan,  haunted  him  like  a 
spectre ; and  not  less  troublesome  were  the  warning 
words  and  suggestions  of  his  kinsman.  On  the 
afternoon  of  that  day  he  was  to  have  met  his  leg^ 
adviser,  and  given  further  instructions  for  the  pro- 
secution of  the  case  against  Morgan.  But  Aldridge 
waited  for  his  appearance  in  vain.  Evening  found 
him  restless,  unhappy,  and  in  a very  , undecided 
state  of  mind.  He  was  sitting,  moodily,  with  his 
hand  shading  the  light  from  his  face,  when  a little 
daughter,  who  was  at  the  centre-table,  reading  in 
the  Bible,  said — 

“Oh,  papa.  Just  listen  to  this — ” And  she 
read  aloud — 

“‘And  the  Lord  sent  Nathan  unto  David.  And 
he  came  unto  him,  and  said  unto  him,  There  were 
two  men  in  one  city ; the  one  rich,  and  the  other 
poor.  The  rich  man  had  exceeding  many  flocks 
and  herds ; but  the  poor  man  had  nothing,  save 
one  little  ewe-lamb,  which  he  had  bought  and 
nourished  up ; and  it  grew  up  together  with  him 
and  with  his  children ; it  did  eat  of  his  own  meat, 
and  drank  of  his  own  cup,  and  lay  in  his  bosom, 
and  was  unto  him  as  a daughter.  And  there  came 
a traveller  unto  the  rich  man,  and  he  spared  to 
take  of  his  own  flock  and  of  his  own  herd,  to  dress 
for  the  wayfaring  man  that  was  come  unto  him; 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE. 


113 


but  he  took  the  poor  man’s  lamb,  and  dressed  it  for 
tiie  man  that  was  come  to  him.  And  David’s  anger 
vas  greatly  kindled  against  the  man ; and  he  said 
o Nathan,  As  the  Lord  liveth,  the  man  that  hath 
done  this  thing  shall  surely  die.  And  he  shall  re- 
store the  lamb  four-fold,  because  he  did  this  thing, 
and  because  he  had  no  pity.  And  Nathan  said  to 
David,  Thou  art  the  man.’ 

44  And  did  king  David  do  that?”  said  the  child, 
lifting  her  eyes  from  the  page — 44 1 thought  him  a 
good  man  ; but  this  was  so  wicked  !” 

The  father’s  countenance  was  turned  more  into 
shadow,  and  he  answered  nothing.  The  child  wait- 
ed his  reply  for  some  moments ; but  none  coming, 
she  bent  her  eyes  again  to  the  holy  volume,  and 
continued  reading,  but  not  aloud. 

In  a little  while  Mr.  J- — — arose,  and  after 
walking  the  floor  for  the  space  of  five  or  ten  mi- 
nutes, left  the  sitting-room.  It  is  doubtful  whether 
he  or  Morgan  were  most  unhappy  at  that  particular 
period  of  time. 

It  was  a clear,  moonlight  night.  Too  much  dis- 
turbed to  bear  the  quietude  within,  the  rich  man 
walked  forth  to  find  a more  burdening  stillness 
without.  The  silence  and  beauty  of  nature  agitated 
instead  of  calming  him.  All  around  was  in  harmony 
with  the  great  Creator,  while  the  discord  of  assault- 
ed selfishness  made  tumult  in  his  breast.  How  a 
generous  impulse  toward  Morgan,  cherished  and 
made  active,  would  have  clothed  his  spirit  with 
peace  as  a mantle!  What  a different  work  had 
cruel  and  exacting  selfishness  wrought ! 

As  he  walked  on,  with  no  purpose  in  his  mind, 

10* 


114 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE 


a man  passed  him  hurriedly.  A glimpse  at  his 
face,  as  the  moonlight  fell  broadly  upon  it,  showed 
the  pale,  anxious,  depressed  countenance  of  poor 
Morgan.  The  sight  caused  a low  shudder  to  go 
creeping  to  his  heart.  Nay,  more,  it  awakened  a 
feeling  of  pity  in  his  bosom.  Pity  is  but  the  hand- 
maid of  sympathy.  The  rich  man’s  thought  went 
homeward  with  the  victim  of  his  cupidity — went 
home  with  him,  though  he  strove  hard  to  turn  it  in 
another  direction — while  fancy  made  pictures  of  the 
grief,  fear,  and  anxious  dread  of  the  future  that 
filled  the  hearts  of  all  in  that  humble  dwelling. 
Suddenly  he  stood  still,  and  bent  his  head  in  deep 
thought.  Then  he  started  onward  again,  but  evi- 
dently with  a purpose  in  his  mind,  for  he  took 
long  strides,  and  bent  forward  like  a man  eager 
to  reach  the  point  toward  which  his  steps  were 
directed.  He  was  soon  at  the  house  of  Aldridge, 
the  lawyer. 

“ I want  a piece  of  writing  made  out  immediate- 
ly,” said  he,  as  the  lawyer  invited  him  to  enter  his 
office. 

“ To-night?”  inquired  Aldridge. 

“ Yes — to-night.  Can  you  do  it  V% 

“ Oh,  certainly,  if  it  be  not  too  long.” 

“I  wish  a quit-claim  drawn  up  in  favour  of  Mor- 
gan.” 

“ A quit-claim  !” 

Aldridge  might  well  be  surprised. 

“ Yes.  Write  it  out  in  due  form  ; and  let  it  de- 
scribe accurately  the  cottage  and  ten  acres  now  in 
his  possession.  How  long  will  it  take  you  V* 

44  Not  long.  Half  an  hour,  perhaps.  But,  Mr, 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE. 


115 


j ? what  does  all  this  mean?  Has  Morgan  in- 

demnified you  ?” 

“No  matter  as  to  that,  Mr.  Aldridge/'  was  the 
rather  cold  reply.  “ The  quit-claim  I wish  drawn. 
I will  wait  for  it.” 

In  a short  time  the  paper  was  ready,  attested 
and  witnessed.  Thrusting  it  into  his  pocket,  Mr. 

hurried  from  the  presence  of  the  lawyer. 

His  purpose  was  to  go  home.  But  now  sympathy 
for  those  he  had  made  wretched  was  awakened,  he 
could  not  bear  its  pressure  upon  his  own  feelings. 
The  dwelling  of  Morgan  was  at  no  great  distance. 
Thither  his  steps  were  directed.  A light  shone 
through  one  of  the  windows.  As  he  drew  near, 
he  saw,  moving  slowly  against  the  wall  and  ceiling 
of  the  room,  to  and  fro,  the  shadow  of  a man. 
Nearer  still,  and  he  could  see  all  the  inmates  of  the 
room.  By  a table  sat  a w^oman  in  an  attitude  of 
deep  dejection;  she  had  been  weeping.  A boy 
stood  beside  her  with  his  arm  lying  on  her  neck, 
while  a little  girl  sat  on  a low  stool,  her  face  buried 
in  her  mother’s  lap.  The  whole  picture  conveyed 
to  the  mind  of  Mr.  J an  idea  of  extreme  wretch- 

edness, and  touched  him  deeply.  A few  moments 
only  did  he  contemplate  the  scene. 

How  suddenly  the  tableaux  changed  when  Mr. 
J entered,  and  briefly  making  known  his  er- 

rand, presented  to  Morgan  the  quit-claim  deed! 
What  joy  lit  up  every  face;  what  gratitude  found 
ardent  words;  what  blessings  were  invoked  for  him 
and  his ! 

In  a tumult  of  pleasure  such  as  he  had  never  be- 
fore experienced,  Mr.  J hurried  from  the  pre- 


116 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  IN  LIFE. 


sence  of  the  overjoyed  family,  and  took  his  way 
homeward.  How  light  were  his  steps  ! With  what 
a new  sensation  did  he  drink  in  the  pure  evening 
air,  that  seemed  nectar  to  his  expanding  lungs. 
How  beautiful  the  moon  looked,  smiling  down  upon 
him;  and  in  the  eye  of  every  bright  star  was  a 
sparkling  approval  of  his  manly  deed.  Never  in 
his  whole  life  had  he  done  an  act  from  which  he  de- 
rived so  exquisite  a sense  of  pleasure.  He  had 
tasted  angel’s  food. 

Calm  was  the  sleep  of  Mr.  J — — . Ah ! how 
often  he  had  tossed  on  his  pillow  until  after  the 
midnight  watches.  Morning  found  him  with  a new 
sense  of  enjoyment  in  life.  He  could  hardly  under- 
stand its  meaning.  Dimly  he  perceived  the  truth 
at  first,  but  more  and  more  clearly  as  his  brother’s 
words  came  back  to  his  remembrance — “ There  are 
few  sources  of  pleasure  so  lasting  as  the  memory  of 
a good  deed.”  This  had  sounded  strange,  almost 
repulsive  to  his  ears.  Now  it  was  perceived  as  a 
beautiful  truth.  And  so  was  this — “How  much 
they  lose  who,  having  the  power  to  do  good,  lack 
the  generous. impulse.” 

“How  much  have  I lost!”  he  said  to  himself, 
with  an  involuntary  sigh.  “Here  is  a new  expe- 
rience in  life.  I am  wiser  than  I was  yesterday; 
and  wiser,  I trust,  to  some  good  purpose.” 

And  did  this  prove  to  be  the  case?  Profited 
this  rich  man  by  the  discovery  that  sources  of  hap- 
piness were  within  his  Keach  undreamed  of  before? 
He  did;  and  yet  how  often  came  the  dark  clouds 
of  selfishness  over  his  mind,  obscuring  his  nobler 
perceptions!  But  a good  seed  was  planted,  and 


A NEW  EXPERIENCE  *N  LIFE. 


117 


there  was  one  in  the  village  of  Glenwood,  who 
loved  him  and  mankind  too  well  to  let  the  soil  in 
which  it  was  cast  remain  uncultured.  From  that 
little  seed  a plant  sprung  up,  growing  in  time  to  a 
goodly  tree,  and  spreading  its  branches  forth  in  the 
air  of  heaven.  Beneath  its  shadow  many,  weary 
on  the  rugged  journey  of  life,  found  rest  and  shel- 
ter. 

Edward  J , from  a narrow-minded,  unhappy 

self-seeker,  became  a man  of  generous  impulses,  dis- 
pensing blessings  with  a liberal  hand,  that  ever 
came  back  to  him  with  a double  portion  of  delight. 

The  charm  of  Glenwood  was  restored.  It  looked 
to  him  even  more  beautiful  than  in  childhood.  At 
this  he  sometimes  wrondered— for,  at  his  first  return, 
after  long  years  of  absence,  the  old  beauty  had  de- 
parted. But  the  reader  finds  here  no  mystery; 
nor  was  it  any  to  him,  when  he  contrasted  his  state 
of  mind  with  that  existing,  when,  tired  of  himself 
and  the  world,  he  came  back  to  his  native  village, 
seeking  for  rest,  yet  finding  none,  until  he  sought 
it  in  self-abnegation  and  good  deeds  to  his  fellow* 
men. 


THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK. 


Supper  was  not  ready  when  Abraham  Mundaj 
lifted  the  latch  of  his  humble  dwelling,  at  the  close 
of  a long,  weary  summer  day*  He  was  not  greatly 
disappointed,  for  it  often  so  happened.  The  table 
was  on  the  floor,  partly  set,  and  the  kettle  over  the 
fire. 

“ There  it  is  again!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Munday. 
fretfully.  “Home  from  work,  and  no  supper  ready. 
The  baby  has  been  so  cross! — hardly  out  of  my 
arms  the  whole  afternoon.  I’m  glad  you’ve  come, 
though.  Here,  take  him  while  I fly  around  and 
get  things  on  the  table.’ ’ 

Mr.  Munday  held  out  his  arms  for  the  little  one, 
who  sprung  into  them  with  a baby  shout. 

Mrs.  Munday  did  fly  around  in  good  earnest.  A 
few  pieces  of  light  wood  thrown  on  the  fire  soon 
made  the  kettle  sing,  and  steam,  and  bubble.  In  a 
wonderfully  short  space  of  time  all  was  ready,  and 
the  little  family,  consisting  of  husband,  wife,  and 
three  children,  were  gathered  around  the  table. 
To  mother’s  arms  baby  was  transferred,  and  she 
had  the  no  very  easy  task  of  pouring  out  her  hus- 
band’s tea,  preparing  cups  of  milk  and  water  for 
the  two  older  of  the  little  ones,  and  restraining  the 
baby,  who  was  grappling  first  the  sugar-bowl,  then 
the  railk-pitcher,  and  next  the  tea-pot. 

118 


THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK. 


119 


“There!”  suddenly  exclaimed  Mrs.  Munday. 
And  two  quick  slaps  on  baby’s  hand  were  heard. 
Baby,  of  course,  answered  promptly  wdth  a wild 
scream.  But  what  had  baby  done  ? Look  into  the 
tea-tray, — the  wdiole  surface  is  covered  with  milk. 
His  busy,  fluttering  hands  have  overturned  the 
pitcher. 

Poor  Mrs.  Munday  lost  her  temper  completely. 

“It’s  no  use  to  attempt  eating  with  this  child,” 
said*  she,  pushing  her  chair  back  from  the  table. 
“I  never  have  any  good  of  my  meals.” 

Mr.  Munday’s  appetite  failed  him  at  once.  He 
continued  to  eat,  however,  but  more  hurriedly. 
Soon  he  pushed  back  his  chair,  also,  and  rising  up, 
said  cheerfully — 

“There,  I’m  done,  Lotty.  Give  me  the  baby, 
while  you  eat  your  supper.” 

And  he  took  the  sobbing  child  from  the  arms  of 
its  mother.  Tossing  it  up,  and  speaking  to  it  in  a 
lively,  affectionate  tone  of  voice,  he  soon  restored 
pleasure  to  the  heart,  and  smiles  to  the  countenance 
of  the  little  one. 

Mrs.  Munday  felt  rebuked  for  her  impatience. 
She  often  suffered  from  these  silent  rebukes.  And 
yet,  the  trials  of  temper  she  daily  endured  were 
very  great.  No  relish  for  food  was  left.  The 
wants  of  the  two  children  were  attended  to,  and 
then,  while  Mr.  Munday  still  held  the  baby,  she 
busied  herself  in  clearing  off  the  table,  washing  up 
the  tea  things,  and  putting  the  room  in  order. 

An  hour  later.  Baby  was  asleep,  and  the  other 
children  with  him  in  the  land  of  dreams.  Mrs. 
Munday  was  busy  sewing  on  a little  frock,  and  M* 


120  THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK. 


Munday  sat  with  his  face  turned  from  the  light, 
lost  in  a brown  study. 

“Lotty,"  said  the  latter,  waking  up  from  hia 
revery,  and  speaking  with  considerable  emphasis — 
46  it’s  no  use  for  you  to  keep  going  on  in  this  way 
any  longer.  You  are  wearing  yourself  out.  And 
what's  more,  there's  no  comfort  at  home  for  any 
body.  You  must  get  a woman  to  help  about  the 
house." 

“We  can't  afford  it,  Abraham,"  was  Mrs.  Mun- 
day's  calm,  but  decided  answer. 

“We  must  afford  it,  Lotty.  You  are  killing  your- 
self." 

“A  woman  will  cost  a dollar  and  a quarter  a 
week,  and  her  board  at  least  as  much  more.  We 
can’t  spare  that  sum — and  you  only  getting  ten 
dollars  a week." 

The  argument  was  unanswerable.  Mr.  Munday 
sighed  and  was  silent.  Again  his  face  was  turned 
from  the  light;  and  again  the  hand  of  his  wife 
plied  quickly  the  glittering  needle. 

“IT1  tell  you  what  we  might  do,"  said  Mrs.  Mun- 
day, after  the  lapse  of  nearly  ten  minutes. 

“Well?"  her  husband  turned  toward  her  and  as- 
sumed a listening  attitude. 

“We  might  take  a small  girl  to  help  in  the 
family.  It  would  only  cost  us  her  victuals  and 
clothes." 

Mr.  Munday  mused  for  some  time  before  answer- 
ing. He  didn’t  just  like  the  proposition. 

“Any  thing,"  he  at  length  said,  “to  lighten 
your  labour.  But  can  you  get  one  ?" 

“I  think  so.  Do  you  remember  poor  Mrs.  Bar- 


THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK.  121 


row,  who  died  last  month?  She  left  a little  girl 
about  eleven  years  old,  with  no  one  to  see  after  her 
but  an  old  aunt,  who  I’ve  heard  isn’t  very  kind  to 
the  child.  No  doubt,  she  would  be  glad  to  get  her 
into  a good  place.  It  would  be  very  easy  for  her 
here.  She  could  hold  the  baby,  or  rock  it  in  the 
cradle  while  I was  at  work  about  the  house — and 
do  a great  many  little  things  for  me,  that  Mould 
lighten  my  task  wonderfully.  It’s  the  very  thing, 
husband” — added  Mrs.  Munday  with  animation, 
44  and  if  you  agree,  I will  run  over  and  see  Mrs. 
Gooch,  her  aunt,  in  the  morning  before  you  go  to 
work.” 

64 How  old  did  you  say  she  was?”  inquired  Mr. 
Munday. 

64  She  was  eleven  in  the  spring,  I believe.” 

<4Our  Aggy  is  between  nine  and  ten.”  Some- 
thing like  a sigh  followed  the  words,  for  the  thought 
of  having  his  little  Aggy  turned  out,  motherless, 
among  strangers,  to  do  drudgery  and  task-work, 
forced  itself  upon  his  mind. 

44  True.  But  a year  or  so  makes  a great  differ- 
ence. Besides,  Anna  Barrow  is  an  uncommonly 
smart  girl  for  her  age.” 

Mr.  Munday  sighed  again. 

44  Well,”  he  said,  after  being  silent  for  a few  mo- 
ments, 44  you  can  do  as  you  think  best.  But  it 
does  seem  hard  to  make  a servant  of  a mere  child 
like  that.” 

44  You  call  the  position  in  which  she  will  be  by 
too  harsh  a name,”  said  Mrs.  Munday.  44 1 can 
make  her  very  useful  without  overtasking  her. 

And  then,  you  know,  as  she  has  got  to  earn  her 

n 


122 


THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK. 


own  living,  she  cannot  acquire  habits  of  industry 
too  soon.” 

Mrs.  Mun day  was  now  quite  in  earnest  about  the 
matter,  so  much  so  that  her  husband  made  no  fur- 
ther objection.  On  the  next  morning,  she  called 
round  to  see  Mrs.  Gooch,  the  aunt  of  Anna  Barrow. 
The  offer  to  take  the  little  girl  was  accepted  at 
once. 

When  Mr.  Munday  came  home  at  dinner  time, 
he  found  the  meal  all  ready  and  awaiting  his  ap- 
pearance. Mrs.  Munday  looked  cheerful  and  ani- 
mated. In  the  corner  of  the  room  sat  a slender 
little  girl,  not  very  much  larger  than  Aggy,  with 
the  sleeping  baby  in  her  arms.  She  lifted  her  eyes 
timidly  to  the  face  of  Mr.  Munday,  who  gave  her  a 
kinddook. 

“Poor,  motherless  child!”  Such  was  his  thought. 

“I  can’t  tell  you  how  much  assistance  she  is  to 
me,”  whispered  Mrs.  Munday  to  her  husband,  lean- 
ing over  to  him,  as  they  sat  at  the  table.  “And 
the  baby  seems  so  fond  of  her.” 

Mr.  Munday  said  nothing,  but  before  his  mind 
was  distinctly  pictured  his  own  little  girl,  a servant 
in  the  home  of  a stranger.  On  his  return  from 
work  in  the  evening,  every  thing  wore  a like  im- 
proved appearance.  Supper  was  ready,  and  Mrs. 
Munday  had  nothing  of  the  worried  look  so  appa- 
rent on  the  occasion  of  her  first  introduction  to  the 
reader.  Every  thing  wore  an  improved  appearance, 
did  we  say?  No,  not  everything.  There  was  a 
change  in  the  little  orphan  girl;  and  Mr.  Munday 
saw,  at  a glance,  that  the  change,  so  pleasant  to 
contemplate,  had  been  made  at  her  expense.  The 


THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK. 


1-.3 


tidy  look,  noticed  at  dinner  time,  was  gone.  Her 
clothes  were  soiled  and  tumbled;  her  hair  had  lost 
its  even,  glossy  appearance,  and  her  manner  show- 
ed extreme  weariness  of  body  and  mind.  She  was 
holding  the  baby.  None  saw  the  tears  that  crept 
over  her  cheeks,  as  the  family  gathered  around  the 
tea-table,  and,  forgetful  of  her,  enjoyed  their  even- 
ing meal. 

Supper  over,  Mrs.  Munday  took  the  baby  and 
undressed  it,  while  Anna  sat  down  to  eat  her  por- 
tion of  food.  Four  times,  ere  this  was  accomplished, 
did  Mrs.  Munday  send  her  up  to  her  chamber  for 
something  wanted  either  for  herself  or  the  child. 

“You  must  learn  to  eat  quick,  Anna,’'  said  Mrs. 
Munday,  ere  the  little  girl,  in  consequence  of  these 
interruptions,  was  half  through  her  supper.  Anna 
looked  frightened  and  confused,  pushed  back  her 
chair,  and  stood  gazing  inquiringly  at  the  face  of 
her  mistress. 

“Are  you  done?’’  the  latter  coldly  asked. 

“Yes,  ma’am,”  was  timidly  answered. 

“Very  well.  Now  I want  you  to  clear  off  the 
table.  Gather  up  all  the  things  and  take  them  out 
into  the  kitchen.  Then  shake  the  tablecloth,  set 
the  table  back,  and  sweep  up  the  room.” 

Mr.  Munday  looked  at  his  wife,  but  said  no- 
thing. 

“ Shall  I help  Anna,  mother?”  inquired  Aggy. 

“No,”  was  rather  sharply  answered.  “Have 
you  studied  your  lesson?” 

“No,  ma’am.” 

“Go  about  that,  then;  it  will  be  as  much  as  you 
^aL  do  before  bedtime.” 


124 


THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK. 


Mrs.  Munday  undressed  her  baby  with  consider- 
able more  deliberation  of  manner  than  usual,  ob- 
serving all  the  while  the  proceedings  of  Anna,  and 
everj  now  and  then  giving  her  a word  of  instruction. 
She  felt  very  comfortable,  as  she  finally  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  with  her  little  one  asleep  in  her 
arms.  By  this  time  Anna  was  in  the  kitchen, 
where,  according  to  instructions,  she  was  washing 
up  the  tea-things.  While  thus  engaged,  to  the  best 
of  her  small  ability,  a cup  slipped  from  her  hand 
and  was  broken  on  the  floor.  The  sound  startled 
Mrs.  Munday  from  her  agreeable  state  of  mind  and 
body. 

“ What’s  that?”  she  cried. 

“ A cup,  ma’am,”  was  the  trembling  answer. 

“ You’re  a careless  little  girl,”  said  Mrs.  Mun- 
day, rather  severely.  The  baby  was  now  taken  up 
stairs  and  laid  in  bed.  After  this,  Mrs.  Munday 
went  to  the  kitchen  to  see  how  her  little  maid  of  all 
work  was  getting  on  with  the  supper  dishes.  Not 
altogether  to  her  satisfaction,  it  must  be  owned. 

“You  will  have  to  do  these  all  over  again,”  she 
said — not  kindly  and  encouragingly,  but  with  some- 
thing captious  and  authoritative  in  her  manner. 
“Throw  out  that  water  from  the  dish-pan  and  get 
some  more.” 

Anna  obeyed,  and  Mrs.  Munday  seated  herself 
by  the  kitchen  table,  to  observe  her  movements, 
and  correct  them  when  wrong. 

“Not  that  way — Here,  let  me  show  you”- — 
“ Stop ! I said  it  must  be  done  in  this  way” — “ Here 
— that  is  right’ — “Don’t  set  the  dishes  down  so 


THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK. 


125 


hard;  you’ll  break  them — they’re  not  made  of 
iron.” 

These,  and  words  of  like  tenor,  were  addressed 
to  the  child,  who,  anxious  to  do  right,  yet  so  con- 
tused as  often  to  misapprehend  what  was  said  tc 
her,  managed  at  length  to  complete  her  task. 

“Now  sweep  up  the  kitchen,  and  put  things  to 
rights.  When  you’re  done,  come  in  to  me,”  said 
Mrs.  Munday,  who  now  retired  to  the  little  sitting- 
room,  where  her  husband  was  glancing  over  the 
daily  paper,  and  Aggy  engaged  in  studying  her 
lesson.  On  entering,  she  remarked, 

“It’s  more  trouble  to  teach  a girl  like  this  than 
to  do  it  yourself.” 

Mr.  Munday  said  nothing;  but  he  had  his  own 
thoughts. 

“Mother,  I’m  sleepy;  I want  to  go  to  bed,” 
said  Fanny,  younger  by  two  or  three  years  than 

Aggy- 

“I  don’t  want  to  go  yet;  and  besides,  I haven’t 
got  my  lesson,”  said  the  older  sister. 

“Wait  until  Anna  is  done  in  the  kitchen,  and 
she  will  go  up  and  stay  with  you.  Anna!”  Mrs. 
Munday  called  to  her,  “make  haste!  I want  you  to 
put  Fanny  to  bed.” 

In  a few  minutes  Anna  appeared,  and  as  direct- 
ed, wTent  up  stairs  with  Fanny. 

“ She  looks  tired.  Hadn’t  you  better  tell  her  to 
go  to  bed  also,”  suggested  Mr.  Munday. 

“To  bed!”  ejaculated  Mrs.  Munday  in  a voice  of 
surprise — “I’ve  got  something  for  her  to  do  besides 
going  to  bed.” 


11* 


126  THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK. 


Mr.  Munday  resumed  the  reading  of  his  paper 
and  said  no  more.  Fanny  was  soon  asleep. 

44 Can’t  Anna  go  up  with  me,  now?  I’m  afraid 
to  go  alone,”  said  Aggy,  as  the  little  girl  came 
down  from  the  chamber. 

44  Yes,  I suppose  so.  But  you  must  go  to  sleep 
quickly.  I’ve  got  something  for  Anna  to  do.” 

Mr.  Munday  sighed,  and  moved  himself  uneasily 
in  his  chair.  In  half  an  hour  Anna  came  down, — 
Aggy  was  just  asleep.  As  she  made  her  appear- 
ance, the  baby  aw^oke  and  cried  out. 

44 Run  up  and  hush  the  baby  to  sleep  before  he. 
gets  wide  awake,”  said  Mrs.  Munday. 

The  weary  child  went  as  directed.  In  a little 
while  the  low  murmur  of  her  voice  was  heard,  as 
she  attempted  to  quiet  the  babe  by  singing  a nursery 
ditty.  How  often  had  her  mother’s  voice  soothed 
her  to  sleep  by  the  selfsame  wTords  and  melody ! 
The  babe  stopped  crying;  and  soon  all  wras  quiet  in 
the  chamber.  Nearly  half  an  hour  passed,  during 
which  Mrs.  Munday  was  occupied  in  sewing. 

44 1 do  believe  that  girl  has  fallen  asleep,”  said 
she  at  length,  letting  her  work  drop  in  her  lap,  and 
assuming  a listening  attitude. 

“ Anna  !”  she  called.  But  there  was  no  answer. 

44 Anna!”  The  only  returning  sound  was  the 
echo  of  her  own  voice. 

Mrs.  Munday  started  up,  and  ascended  to'  her 
chamber.  Mr.  Munday  was  by  her  side,  as  sh6 
entered  the  room.  Sure  enough ; Anna  had  fallen 
asleep,  leaning  over  the  bed  where  the  infant  lay. 

44 Poor,  motherless  child!”  said  Mr.  Munday,  in  a 
voice  of  tendei  compassion  that  reached  tlm  heart 


THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK. 


127 


of  his  wife,  and  awakened  there  some  womanly 
emotions. 

“Poor  thing!  I suppose  she  is  tired  out,”  said 
the  latter.  “ She’d  better  go  to  bed.”  So  she 
awakened  her,  and  told  her  to  go  up  into  the  gar- 
ret, where  a bed  had  been  made  for  her  on  the 
floor.  Thither  the  child  proceeded,  and  there  wept 
herself  again  to  sleep.  In  her  dream  that  night, 
she  was  with  her  mother,  in  her  own  pleasant  home, 
and  she  was  still  dreaming  of  her  mother  and  her 
home,  when  she  wTas  awakened  by  the  sharp  voice 
of  Mrs.  Munday,  and  told  to  get  up  quickly  and 
come  down,  as  it  was  broad  daylight. 

“You  must  kindle  the  fire  and  get  the  kettle  on 
in  a jiffy.”  Such  was  the  order  she  received  on 
passing  the  door  of  Mrs.  Munday’s  room. 

We  will  not  describe,  particularly,  the  trials  of 
this  day  for  our  poor  little  maid  of  all  work.  They 
were  very  severe,  for  Mrs,  Munday  was  a hard  mis- 
tress. She  had  taken  Anna  as  a help;  though  not 
with  the  purpose  of  overworking  or  oppressing  her. 
But  now  that  she  had  some  one  to  lighten  her  bur- 
dens and  “take  steps  for  her,”  the  temptation  to 
consult  her  own  ease  was  very  great.  Less  wearied 
than  in  days  past,  because  relieved  of  scores  of  lit- 
tle matters  about  the  house,  the  aggregate  of  which 
had  worn  her  down,  she  was  lifted  somewhat  above 
an  appreciating  sympathy  for  the  child,  who,  in 
thus  relieving  her,  was  herself  heavily  overtasked. 
Instead  of  merely  holding  the  baby  for  Mrs.  Mun- 
dQ,y,  when  it  was  awake  and  would  not  lie  in  its  cra- 
dle, and  doing  for  her  the  “little  odd  turns,”  at  first 
contemplated,  so  as  to  enable  her  the  better  to  get 


128  THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK. 


through  the  work  of  the  family,  the  former  at  once 
began  to  play  the  lady,  and  to  require  of  Anna  not 
only  the  performance  of  a great  deal  of  household 
labour,  but  to  wait  on  her  in  many  instances  where 
the  service  was  almost  superfluous. 

When  Mr.  Munday  came  home  at  supper  time, 
he  found  his  wife  with  a book  in  her  hand.  The 
table  was  set,  the  fire  burning  cheerfully,  and  the 
hearth  swept  up.  The  baby  was  asleep  in  its  cra- 
dle, and,  as  Mrs.  Munday  read,  she  now  and  then 
touched  gently  with  her  foot  the  rocker.  This  he 
observed  through  the  window,  without  himself  being 
seen.  He  then  glanced  into  the  kitchen.  The 
kettle  had  been  taken  from  the  fire — the  tea-pot 
was  on  the  hearth,  flanked  on  one  side  by  a plate 
of  toast,  and  on  the  other  by  a dish  containing  some 
meat  left  from  dinner  which  had  been  warmed  over. 
These  would  have  quickened  his  keen  appetite, 
but  for  another  vision.  On  her  knees,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room,  was  Anna,  slowly,  and  evidently 
in  a state  of  exhaustion,  scrubbing  the  floor.  Her 
face,  which  happened  to  be  turned  toward  him, 
looked  worn  and  pale,  and  he  saw  at  a glance  her 
red  eyes,  and  the  tears  upon  her  cheeks.  While 
he  yet  gazed  upon  her,  she  paused  in  her  work, 
straightened  her  little  form  with  a wearied  effort, 
and  clasping  both  hands  across  her  forehead,  lifted 
her  wet  eyes  upward.  There  was  no  motion  of  her 
wan  lips,  but  Mr.  Munday  knew  that  her  heart,  in 
its  young  sorrow,  was  raised  to  heaven.  At  this 
moment,  the  kitchen  door  was  opened,  and  Mr 
Munday  saw  his  wife  enter. 

“ Eye-service !”  said  she,  severely,  as  she  saw 


THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK. 


129 


the  position  of  Anna.  “I  don’t  like  this.  Not 
half  over  the  floor  yet ! Why,  what  have  you  been 
doing  ?” 

The  startled  child  bent  quickly  to  her  weary 
task,  and  scrubbed  with  a new  energy  imparted  by 
fear.  Mr.  Munday  turned,  heart  sick,  from  the 
window,  an-d  entered  their  little  sitting-room  as  his 
wife  came  in  from  the  kitchen.  She  met  him  with 
a pleasant  smile,  but  he  was  grave  and  silent. 

“Don’t  you  feel  well?”  she  inquired,  with  a look 
of  concern. 

“Not  very  well,”  he  answered,  evasively. 

“Have  you  felt  bad  all  day?” 

“Yes.  But  I am  heart  sick  now*” 

“Heart  sick  ! What  has  happened,  Abraham?” 
Mrs.  Munday  looked  slightly  alarmed. 

“One  whom  I thought  full  of  human-kindness 
has  been  oppressive,  and  even  cruel.” 

“Abraham  ! What  do  you  mean  ?” 

“Perhaps  my  eyes  deceived  me!”  he  answered— 
“perhaps  it  was  a dream.  But  I saw  a sight  just 
now  to  make  the  tears  flow.” 

. And  as  Mr.  Munday  spoke,  he  took  his  wife  by 
the  arm  and  led  her  out  through  the  back  door. 

“Look!”  said  he — “there  is  a poor,  motherless 
child,  scarcely  a year  older  than  our  Aggy!” 

Anna  had  dropped  her  brush  again,  and  her 
pale  face  and  tearful  eyes  were  onqe  more  uplifted. 
Was  it  only  a delusion  of  fancy,  or  did  Mrs.  Mun- 
day really  see  the  form  of  Mrs.  Barrow,  stooping 
over  her  suffering  child,  as  if  striving  to  clasp  her 
in  her  shadowy  arms? 

For  a few  moments,  the  whole  mind  of  Mrs.  Man* 


130  THE  LITTLE  MAID  OF  ALL  WORK. 


day  was  in  a whirl  of  excitement.  Then  stepping 
back  from  the  side  of  her  husband,  she  glided 
through  the  open  door,  and  was  in  the  kitchen  ere 
Anna  had  time  to  change  her  position.  Frightened 
' at  being  found  idle  again,  the  poor  child  caught 
eagerly  at  the  brush  which  lay  on  the  floor.  In 
doing  so  she  missed  her  grasp,  and  weak  and  trem- 
bling from  exhaustion,  fell  forward,  where  she  lay 
motionless.  When  Mrs.  Munday  endeavoured  to 
raise  her  up,  she  found  her  insensible. 

“Poor — poor  child  said  Mr.  Munday,  tenderly, 
his  voice  quivering  with  emotion,  as  he  lifted  her  in 
his  arms.  He  bore  her  up  to  the  children’s  cham- 
ber, and  laid  her  on  the  bed. 

“Not  here,”  said  Mrs.  Munday.  “Up  in  her 
own  room.” 

“ She  is  one  of  God’s  children,  and  as  precious 
in  his  sight  as  ours” — almost  sobbed  the  husband, 
yet  with  a rebuking  sternness  in  his  voice.  “ She 
shall  lie  here !” 

Mrs.  Munday  was  not  naturally  a cruel  woman ; 
but  she  loved  her  own  selfishly;  and  the  degree  in 
which  this  is  done,  is  the  measure  of  disregard 
toward  others.  She  forgot,  in  her  desire  for  ser- 
vice, that  her  little  servant  was  but  a poor,  mother- 
less child,  thrust  out  from  the  parent  nest,  with  all 
the  tender  longings  of  a child  for  love,  and  all  its 
weaknesses  and  want  of  experience.  She  failed  to 
remember,  that  in  the  sight  of  God  all  children  aro 
equally  precious. 

But  the  scales  fell  from  her  eyes.  She  was  re- 
buked, humbled,  and  repentant. 

“Anna  must  go  back  to  her  aunt,”  said  Mr. 


LOOK  AT  THE  BRIGHT  SIDE. 


131 


Munday,  after  the  child  had  recovered  from  her 
brief  fainting  fit,  and  calmness  was  once  more  re- 
stored to  the  excited  household. 

“She  must  remain, ” was  the  subdued,  but  firm 
answer.  “I  have  dealt  cruelly  with  her.  Let  me 
have  opportunity  to  repair  the  wrong  she  has  suffer- 
ed. I will  try  to  think  of  her  as  my  own  child.  If 
I fail  in  that,  the  consciousness  of  her  mother’s  pre- 
sence will  save  me  from  my  first  error.” 

And  Anna  did  remain- — continuing  to  be  Mrs. 
Munday’s  little  maid  of  all  work.  But  her  tasks, 
though  varied,  were  light.  She  w~as  never  again 
overburdened,  but  treated  with  a judicious  kindness 
that  won  her  affections,  and  made  her  ever  willing 
to  render  service  to  the  utmost  of  her  ability. 


LOOK  AT  THE  BRIGHT  SIDE. 

How  rarely  is  an  absent  one  mentioned  with  com 
mendation,  that  a fault  of  character  is  not  imme- 
diately set  forth  to  qualify  the  good  impressions. 
“ Mr.  A — — is  a man  of  fine  talents,  you  say 
and  forthwith  is  responded,  “ 0 yes,  a man  of  fine 
talents,  but  he  has  no  control  over  his  passions.” 

“ Mr.  B is  a man  of  excellent  principles.” 

“ But,”  is  answered,  “ I don’t  like  some  of  his  prac- 
tices.” “ Mr.  C is  a kind  father  and  husband.” 

“ But  if  all  I have  heard  be  true,  he  is  not  over-nice 
in  regard  to  his  word.”  And,  ten  chances  to  one, 


132 


LOOK  AT  THE  BRIGHT  SIDE. 


if  the  commendation  is  not  forgotten,  while  the  dis- 
paraging declarations  find  a prominent  place  in  the 
memories  of  all  who  heard  them,  and  colour  their 
; estimation  of  A , B , and  C . 

It  is  remarked  by  Swedenborg,  that  whenever  the 
angels  come  to  any  one,  they  explore  him  in  search 
of  good.  They  see  not  his  evil,  but  his  good  quali- 
ties ; and,  attaching  themselves  to  these,  excite  them 
into  useful  activities.  Were  they  to  see  only  the 
man’s  evils,  they  would  recede  from  him,  for  they 
could  not  conjoin  themselves  to  these ; and  thus 
man  would  be  left  unaided,  to  be  borne  down  by  the 
powers  of  evil. 

If,  then,  we  would  help  our  fellow-man  to  rise 
above  what  is  false  and  evil  in  his  character,  let  us 
turn  our  eyes,  as  far  as  possible,  away  from  his 
faults,  and  fix  them  steadily  upon  his  good  qualities. 
We  shall  then  aid  him  in  the  upward  movement, 
and  give  external  power  to  the  good  he  really  pos 
sesses.  And  now,  by  way  of  illustration. 

A young  man,  named^Westfield,  was  the  subject 
of  conversation  between  three  or  four  persons.  One 
of  them,  a Mr.  Hartman,  had  met  Westfield  only 
recently.  The  first  impression  formed  of  his  cha- 
racter was  quite  favourable,  and  he  expressed  him- 
self accordingly.  To  his  surprise  and  pain,  one  of 
the  company  remarked : 

“Yes,  Westfield  is  clever  enough  in  his  way, 
but — .”  And  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  looked 
a world  of  mystery. 

“ No  force  of  character,”  said  another. 

“ I have  never  liked  the  way  he  treated  Mr. 
Green,”  said  a third.  “It  shows,  to  my  mind,  a 


LOOK  AT  THE  BRIGHT  SIDE. 


133 


defect  of  principle.  The  young  man  is  well  enough 
in  his  way,  I suppose,  and  I wouldn’t  say  a word 
against  him  for  the  wwld,  but ” 

And  he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Ah,  how  much 
wrong  has  been  done  to  character  and  worldly 
prospects  by  a single  shrug  ! 

From  no  lip  present  came  even  the  smallest  word 
in  favour  of  the  young  man.  No  one  spoke  of  the 
disadvantages  against  which  he  had  struggled  suc- 
cessfully, nor  portrayed  a single  virtue  of  the  many 
he  possessed.  No  one  looked  at  the  brighter  quali- 
ties of  his  mind.  And  why  ? Poor,  weak  human 
nature  ! Quick  to  mark  evils  and  defects,  but  slow 
to  acknowledge  wThat  is  good  in  thy  neighbour. 
Prone  to  flatter  self,  yet  offering  only  extorted 
praise  at  the  shrine  of  another’s  merit.  How  low 
art  thou  fallen ! 

A few  evenings  after  the  little  conversation  we 
have  mentioned,  Mr.  Hartman  was  thrown  in  com- 
pany with  Westfield.  The  latter,  remembering  his 
first  interview  with  this  gentleman,  whose  position 
in  society  was  one  of  standing  and  influence,  met 
him  again  with  a lively  glow  of  satisfaction,  which 
showed  itself  in  countenance  and  manner.  But  the 
few  disparaging  words  spoken  against  the  young 
4 man  had  poisoned  the  mind  of  Mr.  Hartman ; and, 
instead  of  meeting  him  with  the  frank  cordiality 
expected,  he  received  him  with  a cold  repulse. 

Disappointed  and  mortified,  Westfield  turned 
from  the  man  toward  whom  w'arm  feelings  and  hope- 
ful thoughts  had  been  going  forth  for  many  days, 
and,  in  a little  while,  quietly  retired  from  a com* 

12 


134 


LOOK  AT  THE  BRIGHT  SIDE. 


pany,  in  mingling  with  which  he  had  promised  him- 
self both  pleasure  and  profit. 

“ That  hope  blasted  ?*  exclaimed  the  young  man, 
striking  his  hands  together,  while  a shadow  of 
r intense  pain  darkened  his  countenance.  He  was 
now  alone,  having  returned  to  his  chamber  for  self- 
communion. 

There  existed,  at  this  time,  an  important  crisis  in 
the  young  man’s  affairs.  He  was  a clerk,  on  a very 
moderate  salary.  His  own  wants  were  few,  and 
these  his  salary  would  have  amply  supplied ; but  a 
widowed  mother  and  a young  sister  looked  to  him 
as  their  only  support.  To  sustain  all,  was  beyond 
his  ability ; and,  much  to  his  anxiety  and  deep  dis- 
couragement, he  found  himself  falling  into  debt. 
His  offence  toward  Mr.  Green,  which  had  been 
alluded  to  as  involving  something  wrong  on  his  part, 
was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  leaving  his  service 
for  that  of  another  man,  who  made  a small  advance 
in  his  salary — a thing  which  the  former  positively 
refused  to  do.  He  had  been  with  Mr.  Green  from 
his  boyhood  up,  and  somehow  or  other,  Mr.  Green 
imagined  that  he  possessed  certain  claims  to  his  con- 
tinued service;  and  when  the  fact  of  Westfield’s 
having  left  him  was  alluded  to,  gave  to  others  the 
impression  that  he  was  badly  used  in  the  matter.  * 
He  did  not  mean  to  injure  the  young  man;  but  he 
had  been  valuable ; the  loss  fretted  him  and  pro- 
duced unkind  feelings — and  these  found  relief  in 
words.  Selfishness  prevented  him  from  seeing,  as 
he  ought  to  have  seen,  the  bright  side  of  Westfield’s 
character,  and  so  he  injured  him  by  throwing  a 
shadow  on  his  good  name. 


LOOK  AT  THE  BRIGHT  SIDE. 


135 


“ That  hope  blasted !”  repeated  the  unhappy 
young  man. 

And  what  was  this  fondly  cherished  hope,  the 
extinguishment  of  which  had  moved  him  so  deeply  ? 
A few  words  will  explain.  Mr.  Hartman  was  a 
man  of  considerable  wealth,  and  had  just  closed  a 
large  contract  with  the  State  for  the  erection  of 
certain  public  works,  to  be  commenced  immediately. 
On  that  very  day  Westfield  had  learned  the  fact 
that  he  was  quietly  in  search  of  a competent,  confi- 
dential, disbursing  clerk,  whose  salary  would  be 
double  what  he  was  receiving ; and  it  was  his  pur- 
pose to  see  him  immediately,  offer  himself,  and 
endeavour,  if  possible,  to  secure  the  situation.  He 
had  called  at  his  office  twice  during  the  day,  but 
failed  to  see  him.  The  manner  in  which  Mr.  Hart- 
man met  his  advances  in  the  evening,  satisfied  him 
that  to  ask  for  the  situation  so  much  desired  would 
be  altogether  vain. 

Westfield  was  a young  man  of  integrity — compe- 
tent in  business  matters,  and  industrious.  He  had 
his  faults  and  his  weaknesses,  as  we  all  have ; but 
these  were  greatly  overbalanced  by  his  virtues. 
Yet  was  he  not  above  temptation.  Who  is  ? Who' 
has  not  some  easily  besetting  sin  ? Who  can  say 
that  he  may  not  fall  ? 

To  Mr.  Hartman,  as  a private  clerk,  Westfield 
would  have  been  invaluable.  He  was  just  the  kind 
of  a man  he  was  in  search  of.  Moreover,  he  was 
thinking  of  him  for  this  very  position  of  private 
clerk,  when  the  poison  of  ill-natured  detraction 
entered  his  mind,  and  he  turned  his  thoughts  away 
from  him. 


136 


LOOK  AT  THE  BRIGHT  SIDE. 


The  more  he  brooded  over  his  disappointment, 
and  pondered  the  unhappy  condition  of  his  affairs, 
the  more  deeply  did  the  mind  of  Westfield  become 
disturbed. 

“ 1 cannot  bear  these  thoughts,”  he  said,  starting 
np  from  a chair  in  which  he  had  been  sitting  in 
gloomy  despondency,  and,  in  the  effort  to  escape  his 
troubled  feelings,  he  went  forth  upon  the  street.  It 
was  late  in  the  evening.  There  was  no  purpose  in 
the  young  man’s  mind  as  he  walked  square  after 
square  with  hasty  steps;  and  he  was  about  return- 
ing, when  he  was  met  by  a man  with  whom  he  had 
a slight  acquaintance,  and  who  seemed  particularly 
well  pleased  to  see  him. 

“ The  very  man  I was  thinking  about,”  said  Mr. 
Lee — that  was  his  name.  “ Quite  a coincidence. 
Which  way  are  you  going  ?” 

“ Home,”  replied  Westfield,  somewhat  indiffer- 
ently. 

“ In  any  particular  hurry  ?” 

“No.” 

“ Come  with  me  then  !”. 

“ Where  are  you  going  ?” 

“ To  the  Union  House.  There’s  to  be  a raffle 
there  at  ten  o’clock,  for  six  gold  watches — chance 
in  each  watch  only  one  dollar.  I’ve  got  five  chances. 
They  are  splendid  watches.  Come  along  and  try 
your  luck.” 

“ I d-on’t  care  if  I do,”  said  Westfield. 

He  was  ready  to  catch  at  almost  any  thing  that 
would  divert  his  mind.  Under  other  circumstances 
this  would  have  been  no  temptation.  So  he  went 
to  the  Union  Hotel,  ventured  a dollar,  and,  most 


LOOK  AT  THE  BRIGHT  SIDE. 


137 


unexpectedly,  became  the  owner  of  a gold  watch. 
New  thoughts  and  new  feelings  were  stirring  in  his 
mind  as  he  took  his  way  homeward  that  night, 
excited  as  well  by  some  things  seen  and  heard  at 
the  Union  House,  as  by  the  good  fortune  which  had 
attended  his  first  venture  of  a small  sum  of  money 
in  the  hope  of  gaining  largely  on  the  deposit. 

The  effect  of  his  cold  treatment  of  Westfield, 
did  not  escape  the  observation  of  Mr.  Hartman. 
He  saw  that  the  young  man  was  both  hurt  and 
troubled — that  he  kept  aloof  from  the  rest  of  the 
company,  and  soon  retired. 

“ Do  you  know  young  Westfield  ?”  he  inquired  of 
a gentleman  with  whom,  some  time  afterward,  he 
happened  to  be  in  conversation. 

“ Very  well,”  was  the  answer. 

“ Has  he  good  business  capacity  ?” 

“Few  young  men  excel  him.” 

“ Do  you  know  any  thing  of  his  character  ?” 

“ It  stands  fair.” 

“ I have  heard  that  he  did  not  treat  his  former 
employer,  Mr.  Green,  very  well.” 

“ He  left  him  for  a higher  salary  ; and,  as  he  has 
a mother  and  sister  to  support,  he  was  bound,  in 
my  opinion,  to  seek  the  largest  possible  return  for 
his  labour.” 

“Had  Green  no  particular  claim  on  him?” 

“No  more  than  vou  or  I have.” 

«/ 

“ I heard  the  fact  of  his  leaving  the  employment 
of  Mr.  Green  commented  on  in  a way  that  left  on 
my  mind  an  unfavourable  impression  of  the  young 
man.” 

“ Some  people  are  always  more  ready  to  sup- 


138 


LOOK  AT  THE  BRIGHT  SIDE 


pose  evil  than  good  of  another, ” was  replied  to 
this. 


“ I am  in  search  of  a competent  young  man  as  a 
private  clerk,  and  had  thought  of  Westfield;  but 
these  disparaging  remarks  caused  me  to  decide 
against  him.” 

“ In  my  opinion,”  said  the  gentleman  with  whom 
Mr.  Hartman  was  conversing,  “you  Will  search  a 
good  while  before  finding  any  one  so  well  suited 
to  vour  purpose,  in  every  respect,  as  young  West- 
field.” 


“ You  speak  earnestly  in  regard  to  him.” 

“ I do,  and  because  I know  him  well.” 

A very  different  impression  of  the  young  man 
was  now  entertained  by  Mr.  Hartman.  It  was  past 
eleven  o’clock  on  that  night  as  he  rode  homeward, 
passing  on  his  way  the  Union  House,  and  just  at 
the  moment  when  Westfield,  in  company  with  seve- 
ral young  men,  came  forth  after  the  closing  of  the 
raffle.  They  were  talking  loud  and  boisterously. 
Mr.  Hartman  leaned  from  the  carriage  window, 
attracted  by  the  voices,  and  his  eyes  rested  for  a 
moment  on  Westfield.  The  form  was  familiar,  but 
he  failed  to  get  a sight  of  his  face.  The  carriage 
swept  by,  and  the  form  passed  from  his  vision ; but 
he  still  thought  of  it,  and  tried  to  make  out  his 
identity. 

Not  many  hours  of  tranquil  sleep  had  Westfield 
that  night.  As  he  lay  awake  through  the  silent 
watches,  temptation  poured  in  upon  him  like  a 
flood,  and  pressing  against  the  feeble  barriers  of 
weakened  good  principles,  seemed  ready  to  bear 
them  away  in  hopeless  ruin.  In  a single  hour  ho 


LOOK  AT  THE  BRIGHT  SIDE. 


139 


had  become  the  possessor  of  a gold  watch,  which 
could  readily  be  converted  into  money,  and  which, 
at  a low  valuation,  would  bring  the  sum  of  fifty  dol- 
lars,— equal  to  a month’s  salary.  How  easily  had 
this  been  acquired ! True,  to  raffle  was  to  gamble. 
And  yet  he  easily  silenced  this  objection  ; for  at 
religious  fairs  he  had  often  seen  goods  disposed  of 
by  raffle,  and'  had  himself  more  than  once  taken  a 
chance.  Another  raffle  for  valuable  articles  had 
been  announced  for  the  next  night  at  the  Union, 
and  Westfield,  urged  by  the  hope  of  new  successes, 
resolved  to  be  present,  and  again  try  his  luck. 

The  following  morning  found  the  young  man  in  a 
more  sober,  thoughtful  mood.  He  did  not  show  his 
watch  to  his  mother,  nor  mention  to  her  the  fact  of 
having  won  it.  Indeed,  when  she  asked  him  where 
he  had  been  so  late  on  the  night  before,  he  evaded 
the  question. 

On  his  way  to  the  store  in  which  he  was  employed, 
Westfield  called  in  at  a jeweller’s,  and  asked  the 
value  of  his  watch. 

“It  is  worth  about  seventy-five  dollars,”  answered 
the  jeweller,  looking  very  earnestly  at  Westfield, 
and  with  a certain  meaning  in  his  countenance  that 
the  young  man  did  not  like. 

“ It  is  perfectly  new,  as  you  can  see.  I would 
like  to  sell  it.” 

“ What  do  you  ask  for  it  ?” 

“I  vi ill  take  sixty  dollars.” 

“ I’ll  buy  it  for  fifty,”  said  the  jeweller. 

“ Very  well,  it  is'yours.” 

Westfield  felt  like  a guilty  man.  He  was  cer- 
tain that  the  jeweller  suspected  him  of  having 


no 


LOOK  AT  THE  BRIGHT  STDE. 


obtained  it  through  some  improper  means.  The 
money  was  paid  over  at  once,  and  thrusting  the 
sum  into  his  pocket,  he  went  hurriedly  out.  As  he 
was  leaving  the  store,  he  encountered  Mr.  Hart- 
man, who  was  entering.  He  dropped  his  eyes  to 
the  ground,  while  a crimson  flush  overspread  his 
face. 

“Ah,  Mr.  Westfield,”  said  Mr.  Hartman,  detain- 
ing him,  “ I am  glad  to  meet  you.  Will  you  call  at 
my  office  this  morning  ?” 

“ If  you  wish  me  to  do  so,”  replied  the  young 
man,  struggling  to  overcome  the  confusion  of  mind 
into  which  the  sudden  encounter,  under  the  circum- 
stance, had  thrown  him. 

“ I do.  Call  at  eleven  o’clock — I wish  to  see 
you  particularly.” 

“ Do  you  know  that  young  man  ?”  inquired  the 
jeweller,  as  Mr.  Hartman,  to  whom  he  was  well 
known,  presented  himself  at  his  counter. 

“What  young  man?”  inquired  Mr.  Hartman. 

“ The  young  man  with  whom  I saw  you  speaking 
at  the  door.” 

“ Yes.  His  name  is  Westfield ; and  a very  excel- 
lent young  man  he  is.  Do  you  know  any  thing 
about  him  ?” 

“I  know  that  he  has  just  sold  me  a watch  for 
fifty  dollars,  which  I sold  for  seventy-five  yesterday 
to  a man  who  told  me  he  was  going  to  raffle  it.” 

The  jeweller  didn't  say  this.  It  came  in  his 
thoughts  to  say  it.  But  he  checked  the  utterance, 
and  merely  replied : 

“Nothing  at  all.  He  is  a stranger  to  me/' 

Had  that  first  impulse  to  produce  an  unfavourable 


LOOK  AT  THE  BRIGHT  SILE.  ^ 141 


impression  in  regard  to  a stranger,  been  obeyed,  the 
life  prospects  of  Westfield  would  have  been  utterly 
blasted.  The  evening  that  followed,  instead  of 
finding  him  at  home,  rejoicing  with  his  mother  and 
sister  over  the  hopeful  future,  would  have  seen  him 
again  in  the  dangerous  company  of  unscrupulous 
men,  and  entering  in  through  the  gate  that  leads  to 
destruction.  Now  he  saw  clearly  his  error,  the 
danger  he  had  escaped,  and  wondered  at  his  blind 
infatuation,  while  he  shuddered  at  the  fearful  con- 
sequences that  might  have  followed,  had  not  a bet- 
ter way  opened  to  his  erring  footsteps  at  the  very 
moment  when,  in  strange  bewilderment,  he  was 
unable  to  see  the  right  path. 

Mr.  Hartman  never  had  cause  to  regret  his  choice 
of  a clerk.  He  often  thought  of  the  injustice  which 
the  young  man  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  those 
who  should  have  seen  his  good  qualities,  instead  of 
seeking  for  and  delighting  in  the  portrayal  of  bad 
ones.  And  he  thought,  too,  of  the  actual  injury 
this  false  judgment  had  come  near  inflicting  upon  a 
most  worthy,  capable,  and  honest  person.  He  did 
not  know  all.  The  reader  can  penetrate  more 
deeply  below  the  surface,  and  see  how  a few  care- 
lessly-uttered disparaging  words,  proved  hidden 
rocks,  on  which  the  hopes  of  a fellow-being,  for  this 
life  and  the  next,  came  near  being  wrecked. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JOE  BARKER. 


“Don’t  go  out,  Joe,”  said  Mrs.  Barker,  as  she 
sa\Y  her  husband  take  his  hat  and  move  off  quietly 
toward  the  door. 

“ I’m  not  going  to  stay  long.” 

And  as  Barker  said  this,  he  glided  from  the  room. 
Mrs.  Barker  followed  quickly,  with  the  purpose  of 
arresting  his  progress  and  bringing  him  back  into 
the  house. 

Now,  Joe  Barker  was  a very  weak-minded  man ; 
one  of  those  innocent,  harmless  creatures,  who  are 
their  own  worst  enemies,  and,  as  a matter  of  course, 
enemies  to  the  peace  of  all  with  whom  they  have  in- 
timate relations.  He  was  very  good-natured,  even 
when  in  liquor ; and,  what  is  more  remarkable  still, 
good-natured  under  the  sharp  words  of  his  not  over- 
patient  wife,  who  never  failed  in  her  duty  toward 
him,  so  far  as  reproof  and  angry  invective  were  con- 
cerned. There  was  no  lack  of  occasion  for  these, 
in  the  almost  daily  defections  of  Barker,  whose 
temperance  resolutions,  when  in  sight  of  a dram- 
shop, were  strong  as  threads  of  wax  in  a furnace 
heat. 

Mrs.  Barker,  as  just  said,  followed  quickly,  in 
order  to  intercept  her  husband’s  movements.  She 
knew  very  well  for  what  purpose  he  was  going 
out  after  supper.  There  was  only  one  attraction 
142 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JOE  BARKER.  143 


-stronger  than  home  for  him,  and  that  was  the  tavern. 
When  Mrs.  Barker  passed  forth  and  stretched  out 
her  hands  to  grasp  the  form  of  her  weak  husband, 
she  clutched  but  the  empty  air.  Anticipating  this 
very  movement,  Joe  had  sprung  away  with  nimble 
feet  the  instant  the  door  was  closed  behind  him ; 
and  was  far  beyond  the  reach  of  his  wife’s  inter- 
cepting hands  when  she  made  her  appearance. 

44  Isn’t  it  too  much?”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Barker,  as 
she  went  back  into  the  house,  after  satisfying  her- 
self tnat  Joe  was  fairly  beyond  her  reach.  44  He’s 
got  Ins  whole  week’s  wages  in  his  pockets,  and  ten 
to  one  if  he  doesn’t  get  rid  of  nearly  half  of  it 
before  he  comes  home.  I wish  every  tavern  in  the 
State  was  burned  down,  and  every  tavern-keeper  in 
the  penitentiary — and  it  would  be  so  before  long, 
if  I had  my  way  ! It’s  no  better  than  robbery  to 
take  the  money  of  a half-innocent  like  him.  If  I 
had  only  been  in  time  to  stop  him  and  get  his  money 
out  of  his  pocket !” 

Mrs.  Barker  was  both  vexed  and  grieved;  so 
much  so,  that  she  sat  down  and  wept. 

In  the  mean  time  her  husband  made  his  way  to 
the  nearest  tavern,  which  was  not  very  far  off. 
Poor  Joe  Barker  ! The  words  of  his  wife,  when  she 
called  him  a 44  half-innocent,”  nearly  expressed  the 
truth.  His  intellectual  range  was  very  low.  He 
could  read — -early  drilling  in  the  district  school  had 
accomplished  for  him  that  much — but  his  ability  to 
read  was  rarely  put  to  any  good  use.  Newspapers 
he  saw  now  and  then  at  the  tavern,  but  he  never 
found  much  in  them  beyond  a vulgar  anecdote  that 
interested  him.  Of  the  history  of  current  events, 


144  WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JOE  BARKER; 


he  did  not  understand  sufficient  to  encourage  thought 
in  that  direction.  In  fact,  general  knowledge  as  to 
what  was  passing  in  the  great  world  around  him, 
was  as  much  hidden  from  his  dull  eyes  as  if  it  were 
in  a sealed  book.  He  worked  at  his  trade,  that  of 
a cooper,  very  much  as  a horse  goes  round  in  a mill. 
He  had  learned  how  to  make  a barrel,  somewhat  in- 
differently ; and  daily,  when  not  too  much  overcome 
with  drink,  he  sat  on  the  wooden-horse  in  the  old 
cooper  shop,  deliberately  working  his  drawing-knife 
— or  arranged  the  staves  in  form,  and  bound  them 
with  hoops.  He  had  no  need  of  intellectual  skill  to 
keep  on  with  his  tasks.  He  knew  how  to  make  a 
barrel,  and  that  was  about  the  extent  of  his  know- 
ledge in  mechanical  science.  His  earnings  ranged 
from  two-and-a-half  to  five  dollars  a week,  but  never 
went  beyond  the  last-mentioned  sum.  Too  large  a 
proportion  of  this  found  its  way  into  the  landlords' 
tills,  much  to  the  injury  of  Joe  Barker  and  his 
miserable  family.  Strong  liquor  on  so  weak  a brain 
made  it  only  the  weaker;  and  the  poor  innocent, 
when  sober,  was  little  removed  from  a good-natured 
fool  when  drunk. 

It  was  all  in  vain  that  Betsy  Barker,  his  faithful, 
though  long-suffering,  and  often  justly  indignant 
wife,  went  many  times  to  the  tavern-keepers  who 
sold  him  drink,  and  implored  them,  with  tears,  in  the 
name  of  God  and  humanity,  not  to  sell  her  husband 
intqxicating  drinks.  Coarse  insult  or  wicked  abuse 
was  all  she  received — and  she  would  go  back,  weep- 
ing and  despairing,  to  her  cheerless  home  and  half- 
itarving  children. 

Thus  it  was  with  Joe  Barker  and  his  family  op 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JOE  BARKER.  145 


the  night  in  which  we  have  introduced  them  to  the 
reader.  What  was  a little  unusual  for  Joe,  he  had 
worked  steadily  all  day,  and  without  once  going  to 
the  tavern  to  get  a drink.  In  fact,  Betsy  had  talked 
to  him  so  earnestly  in  the  morning,  and  pictured  to 
his  mind  so  vividly  the  evil  consequences  of  his  way 
of  life,  that  he  had  made  one  of  his  feeble  resolu- 
tions to  become  a sober  man.  This  resolution  he 
had  been  able  to  keep  through  the  day,  sustained 
therein  by  the  useful  labour  in  which  he  was  en- 
gaged. But,  when  evening  came  in,  and  his  thought 
went  to  the  tavern  and  the  good  fellows  there  assem- 
bled,  with  whom  he  was  wont  to  meet,  he  was  unable 
to  withstand  the  impulse  that  led  him  thitherward. 
And  so,  seizing  a favoured  moment,  he  left  the  house, 
ere  his  watchful  partner  could  prevent  it. 

Diving  down  a narrow  cross  street,  not  far  from 
the  poor  hovel  in  which  he  dwelt,  Joe  Barker  was 
soon  in  front  of  “ The  Diamond,”  an  old  drinking 
haunt  of  the  worst  description.  He  was  right  against 
the  closed  door  ere  he  noticed  the  absence  of  the 
red  lamp,  on  which  the  word  “ Refectory”  had  so 
often  tempted  him  with  thoughts  of  good  cheer 
within ; and  he  pushed  several  times  against  the 
door,  ere  fully  satisfied  that  it  was  fastened  within. 

u What's  the  matter  here?”  muttered  Joe,  in 
some  bewilderment  at  so  singular  a state  of  affairs. 
Stepping  back  a pace  or  two,  he  looked  up  at  the 
house.  “Lamp  out — door  locked — shutters  closed 
— what’s  the  matter  ? — old  Gilbert’s  not  dead,  I 
Hope.” 

Two  or  three  feeble  raps  were  made  on  the  door, 
but  only  a hollow  sound  came  from  within. 

13 


146 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JOE  BARKER. 


“I  don’t  understand  it  all,”  said  Joe  Barker, 
now  observing,  for  the  first  time,  that  this  particular 
neighbourhood,  usually  crowded,  so  to  speak,  with 
noisy  tipplers  every  evening,  had  a deserted  look. 
Here  and  there  a man  might  be  seen  moving  briskly 
along,  as  if  on  some  particular  errand,  or  on  his  way 
home.  But  there  were  no  groups  at  the  corners, 
no  loud  talkers : none  of  the  usual  evidences  of 
drinking  and  rowdyism. 

“ It  can’t  be  Sunday  evening,”  thought  Joe  ; and 
he  stood  still,  trying  to  think,  with  his  hand  on  his 
forehead. 

No ; it  was  not  Sunday  evening,  he  was  certain 
of  this;  for  he  remembered  that  “The  Diamond” 
had  always  been  ready  to  receive  customers— whether 
it  were  Saturday  or  Sunday  evening. 

“ He’s  dead,  or  moved  away.”  This  was  the  only 
conclusion  to  which  Joe  could  arrive.  So  he  passed 
on,  saying  to  himself — 

“I’ll  go  round  to  Sprigg’s ; for  I must  have  a 
drink  to-night.” 

And  so  the  poor,  meagrely-clad  creature  w'ent 
shuffling  along  the  half-deserted  pavement,  wThere, 
aforetime,  he  had  been  wont  to  meet  at  every  turn, 
wretches  sold  to  the  vice  of  intoxication,  and  even 
more  degraded  than  himself.  But  few  of  these  * 
were 'now  to  be  seen,  and  they  were  evidently  as 
much  bewildered  at  the  changed  aspect  which  every 
thing  wore  as  he  was. 

Sprigg  kept  a drinking  and  gambling  den,  in  the 
next  square  from  Gilbert’s.  Thither  Joe  Barker 
groped  his  way,  for  the  street  was  unusually  dark— 
the  large  lamp  in  front  of  “The  Diamond,”  now 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JOE  BARKER. 


147 


extinguished,  had,  of  itself,  lit  up  the  whole  block. 
Stranger  still ! Sprigg’s  den  was  closed.  A dim 
light,  shining  through  one  of  the  upper  windows, 
encouraged  Barker  to  hammer  on  the  shut  door  for 
admittance.  Two  or  three  times  he  knocked  before 
there  was  any  evidence  of  life  within.  Then  a win- 
dow in  the  second  story  was  opened,  and  a man’s 
head  thrust  out. 

“ Who’s  there  ?”  was  growled  in  a gruff,  almost 
angry  voice. 

“Hoy!  Sprigg,  is  that  you?”  cried  Barker. 
“What,  in  wonder,  is  the  matter?” 

“ Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  want  ?”  returned 
Sprigg  sharply. 

“I’m  Joe  Barker;  come  down  and  let  me  in.  I 
want  the  stiffest  glass  of  rum-toddy  you  can  make ; 
for  I havn’t  tasted  a drop  since  yesterday.” 

“ If  I do  come  down,  it’ll  be  a sorry  time  for  you, 
old  chap!”  was  the  passionate  answer  of  Sprigg. 
“.Off  with  you,  and  this  instant !” 

“Why,  what’s  in  the  wind  now,  neighbour?” 
Raid  Barker,  more  puzzled  than  before.  “ Have 
you  all  shut  up  shop — turned  pious,  and  joined  the 
church  ?” 

The  tavern-keeper  sputtered  out  an  oath,  as  he 
drew  in  his  head,  and  closed  the  sash  with  a heavy 

jar. 

Joe  Barker  was  mystified  worse  than  ever.  What 
could  it  all  mean  ? 

“Somebody  must  be  dead.”  He  looked  for  a 
strip  of  crape ; but  the  old  iron  latch-guard  was 
guiltless  of  the  drapery  of  mourning.  A wooden 
block  stood  by  the  door,  and  upon  this  Barker  sat 


J<1S  WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JOE  BARKER. 


down  to  think,  if  his  mental  processes  could  thus  be 
dignified. 

“ The  ‘Diamond’  and  Sprigg’s,  both  shut  up! 

; Can’t  make  it  out.  Is  the  world  coming  to  an  end? 
May  be  somebody’s  murdered ; and  they’re  been 
closed  by  the  police  ? Shouldn’t  wonder ! They 
gay  Sprigg  is  a bad  fellow ; and  that  Gilbert  was 
once  tried  for  his  life.  That’s  it,,  as  sure  as  a gun ! 
I’ll  go  right  off  to  Paul  Dixon’s.  They’H  know  all 
about  it,  there.” 

Paul  Dixon  was  another  grog-seller,  whose  bar- 
room was  close  by,  around  the  corner.  Thither  Joe 
directed  his  steps,  impelled  as  much  by  an  awakened 
curiosity  as  by  an  all-consuming  thirst.  Wonder 
of  wonders ! All  wTas  dark  and  silent  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Paul  Dixon’s.  Even  the  great  lamp, 
with  its  stained  glass  sides,  and  variegated  letters, 
had  been  taken  down,  and  the  bare  lamp-post,  as  it 
stood  sharp  against  the  sky,  added  to  the  deserted 
aspect  of  things,  so  new,  and  strange,  and  unac- 
countable. 

“Something’s  wrong,”  murmured  Joe  Barker, 
in  a subdued  voice.  “ Something’s  to  pay.”  He 
looked  at  the  lamp-post,  at  the  closed  windows  and 
door  of  Paul  Dixon’s  tavern,  and  sighed.  He  really 
felt  melancholy. 

“I  wish  I had  a good  drink,”  he  said,  arousing 
himself.  “ I never  was  so  dry  in  my  life.  I wonder 
if  all  the  taverns  are  closed.  Gilbert,  Sprigg,  and 
Dixon  shut  up!  Can’t  make  it  out,  no  how.” 

Thus  talking  with  himself,  Joe  commenced  re- 
tracing his  steps,  but  very  slowly,  his  eyes  cast 
down  to  the  pavement.  So  lost  was  he  in  a be- 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JOE  BARKER,  149 


wildering  maze  of  doubt  and  suggestion,  that,  ere 
aware  of  an  obstruction  in  his  path,  he  came  sud- 
denly, and  with  quite  a shock,  against  a very  sober, 
old-fashioned  pump,  that  signified  its  consciousness 
of  the  assault,  by  rattling  somewhat  noisily  the  chain 
of  its  iron  ladle. 

“Hi!  hi!  what’s  the  matter  now?”  ejaculated 
Barker,  moving  back  a pace  or  two,  and  trying  to 
relink  the  broken  chain  of  his  thoughts.  “ Only 
the  old  pump ! Aha ! I’ve  had  many  a cool  drink 
here,  in  my  time,  both  as  boy  and  man  ; and  it 
never  cost  me  a cent,  nor  made  me  more  of  a fool 
than  some  people  say  I am  by  nature.  Good  even- 
ing, Mr.  Pump ! Let  us  shake  hands,  or  shake 
handle,  just  as  you  please,  for  old  acquaintance’  sake. 
I’ve  been  trying  to  get  a drink  for  this  half  hour. 
But  not  a drop  is  to  be  had  for  love  or  money.  The 
rum-sellers  have  all  shut  up  shop,  it  seems.  I hope 
you're  not  on  a strike,  too.  Let’s  see  !” 

Joe  Barker  lifted  the  handle,  putting  the  iron 
ladle  under  the  spout  as  he  did  so,  and  brought  it 
down  with  a strong  jerk.  Out  gushed  the  crystal 
water,  looking  clear  and  beautiful  even  in  the  feeble 
starlight.  It  filled  the  ladle,  overrun  its  sides,  and 
went  splashing  down  upon  the  pavement.  There 
was  something  pleasant  in  the  sound,  even  to  tho 
dull  ears  of  Barker ; and  there  was  a feeble  awTaken- 
ing  in  his  mind  of  dear  old  memories  about  boyhood, 
and  the  early  times  when  he  was  a better  man  tin  n 
now. 

To  his  mouth  he  placed  the  brimming  ladle,  and 
drank  a pnre  draught  of  nectar.  Just  as  he  had 
removed  the  vessel  from  his  lips,  and  taken  a deep 

13* 


150  WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JOE  BARKER. 


inspiration,  a hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder  familiarly, 
and  a friendly  voice  said — 

“ Cheaper  drinking  that,  neighbour  Barker,  than 
ever  was  found  at  the  6 The  Diamond/  across  yonder, 
and  a thousand  times  better  into  the  bargain.  I’m 
glad  to  see  you  returning  to  your  old  friend  again, 
and  hope  you  may  never  have  occasion  to  desert 
him.  Friend  Pump  is  worth  a score  of  your  Spriggs, 
Dixons,  and  Gilberts.  What  a blessed  thing  that 
you  are  for  ever  rid  of  their  friendly  offices !” 

“For  ever  rid  of  them?”  said  Barker.  “What 
does  it  all  mean,  neighbour  ? What  have  they  done  ? 
Has  any  one  been  murdered?” 

‘Murdered!  No,  not  exactly  that;  but,  didn’t 
you  know  that  the  old  villain  Alcohol  died  last  night.” 
“Died?  What!  I don't  understand.”  And 
poor  Joe  Barker  looked  more  bewildered  than  ever. 
“ Died — how  ?” 

“ Why,  Joe  Barker ! Is  it  possible  you  don’t 
know  that  the  Maine  Law  went  into  operation  in 
our  State  to-day?” 

“The  Maine  Law!”  Joe  took  off  his  old  hat, 
and  laid  one  of  bis  broad  bands  upon  his  forehead. 
“The  Maine  Law!  I heard  'em  talking  about  it 
on  last  election.  They  said  it  was  a dreadful  out- 
rage upon  our  liberties,  over  at  4 The  Diamond,’  and 
so  I voted  against  it.  What  does  it  do,  neighbour  ? 
Will  it  shut  up  all  the  taverns?” 

“That’s  just  what  it  has  done  already.  You 
can’t  buy  a drink  of  liquor  in  the  whole  town.” 

“ You  don’t  tell  me ! Good,  say  I to  that ! 
Well,  I couldn’t  make  it  out,  no  how.  I thought 
something  strange  had  happened.  All  shut  up! 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JOE  BARKER. 


151 


IIo,  bo!  Sprigg  said  it  would  be  the  ruination  of 
the  town  if  the  law  passed.  I rather  guess  he 
thought  there  was  nobody  in  town  left  to  be  ruined 
except  rum-sellers.  And  you’re 'sure  every  tavern 
has  been  closed?” 

“I  know  it,”  was  the  decided  answer. 

“ Then  I’ll  run  home  and  tell  Betsy.  But  won’t 
she  be  glad!” 

And  away  the  excited  creature  ran,  as  fast  as  his 
feet  would  carry  him. 

Poor  Betsy  Barker ! When  she  found  that  Joe 
had -gone  off,  with  all  his  week’s  wages  in  his  pocket, 
she  felt  like  giving  up.  They  were  out  of  meal  and 
meat,  and  the  children’s  shoes  no  longer  kept  their 
feet  from  the  ground.  For  herself,  she  had  not  a 
garment  but  what  was  patched  and  repatched  until 
scarcely  a whole  breadth  of  the  original  fabric  re- 
mained. She  had  laid  it  all  out  in  her  mind,  how 
she  was  going  to  spend  the  four  dollars  which  her 
husband  told  her,  in  the  morning,  he  would  be  paid 
for  his  week’s  work.  It  was  a very  small  sum  when 
set  off  against  their  many,  many  needs ; but  she  had 
apportioned  it,  in  her  thought,  in  such  a way  as  to 
make  it  go  the  farthest  in  supplying  things  abso- 
lutely necessary.  But,  alas ! alas ! Joe  had  gone 
off  wTith  the  whole  sum  in  his  pocket,  and  she  knew 
the  chances  were  ten  to  one  that  he  would  not  have 
the  half  of  it  left — perhaps  not  a dollar — when  he 
came  home. 

The  poor  wife  was  disheartened,  and  who  can 
wonder  ? She  cleared  off  the  supper  things,  and 
then  sat  down  to  mend  an  old  jacket  belonging  to 
her  oldest  boy.  As  she  turned  it  over  and  over, 


152 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JOE  BARKER. 


and  noticed  how  torn  and  worn  it  was — more  fit  for 
the  rag-bag  than  any  thing  else — she  let  it  fall  into 
her  lap,  and,  bending  over  upon  the  table  by  which 
she  was  sitting,  buried  her  face  in  her  arms.  She 
did  not  weep  now.  Her  feelings  of  despondency 
had  in  them  too  much  of  hopelessness  for  tears. 

As  she  sat  thus,  the  door  opened,  and  her  quick 
ears  recognised  the  footsteps  of  her  husband.  Hex 
heart  fluttered  instantly  with  a new  hope,  while  half 
the  oppressive  weight  on  her  bosom  was  removed. 
His  return,  so  early  and  so  unexpectedly,  was  an 
augury  of  good.  That  he  had  been  drinking,  she 
doubted  not;  but  there  was  ground  for  believing 
that  he  had  not  wasted  the  money  she  so  much 
needed.  She  did  not  raise  her  head  until  Joe  came 
up  to  where  she  was  sitting,  and,  in  a tone  of  exulta- 
tion, which  he  could  not  repress,  exclaimed — 

“ Hurrah,  Betsy  ! Good  news  ! There’s  all  my 
money — not  a cent  gone.”  And  he  threw  a hand- 
ful of  silver  coin  on  the  table.  “ Good  news ! What 
do  you  think?  Old  King  Alcohol’s  dead.  I’ve 
just  heard  the  news.” 

“Are  you  crazy,  Joe?”  said  Mrs.  Barker,  look- 
ing in  wonder  and  bewilderment  at  her  excited 
husband. 

“Not  a bit  of  it,  darling!”  answered  Joe,  as  he 
threw  his  arms  around  his  wife’s  neck,  and  kissed 
her.  “Nor  drunk,  either,”  he  added,  as  she  pushed 
him  away.  “Why,  Betsy!  Don’t  you  know  that 
we’ve  got  a Maine  Law?  I’ve  been  to  Gilbert’s, 
and  to  Sprigg’s,  and  to  Dixon’s,  but  they’re  all  shut 
up.  Tompkins  told  me  that  a drop  of  liquor  couldn’t 
be  bought  in  the  whole  town.  Ain’t  that  good  news 


GOING  TO  THE  DOGS. 


153 


for  you,  old  girl!  Hurrah,  boys!  I’m  as  glad  as 
if  I’d  found  a new  dollar.  I never  could  pass  their 
doors  without  going  in  for  a drink,  whether  I wanted 
to  or  not.  Somehow  or  other,  I couldn’t  help  it.” 
“Joe!  Joe!  Is  all  true  what  you  say?”  eagerly 
ex-claimed  Mrs.  Barker,  now  pressing  forward  upon 
her  husband,  and  drawing,  almost  involuntarily,  her 
arms  around  him.  “Is  it  all  true , Joe V' 

“Every  word  of  it,  Betsy,  as  I’m  a living  man.” 
“Thank  God!  Thank  God!”  was  the  overjoyed 
wife’s  sobbing  response,  as  her  face  fell  upon  the 
bosom  of  her  kind-hearted,  but  weak  and  erring 
husband. 

A month  from  that  time,  and  what  a change  was 
visible  in  their  humble  dwelling ! And  not  in  theirs 
alone,  but  in  thousands  of  other  dwellings  through- 
out the  State  from  wdiich  prompt  legislation  had 
driven  the  vile  traffic  in  rum,  with  all  its  attendant 
crime  and  wretchedness. 


GOING  TO  THE  DOGS. 

“I  received  your  bill  to-day,  Mr.  Leonard,” 
said  a customer,  as  he  entered  the  shop  of  & master 
mechanic. 

“ We  are  sending  out  our  accounts  at  this  season,” 
returned  the  mechanic,  bowing. 

“I  want  to  pay  you.” 


154 


GOING  TO  THE  DOG  3. 


“Very  well,  Mr.  Baker,  we’re  always  glad  to  geJ 
money.” 

“ But  you  must  throw  off  something.  Let  me 
8 3e,” — and  the  customer  drew  out  the  bill — “ twenty- 
seven  dollars  and  forty-six  cents.  Twenty-five  will 
do.  There,  receipt  the  bill  and  I’ll  pay  you.” 

But  Leonard  shook  his  head. 

“ I can’t  deduct  a cent  from  that  bill,  Mr.  Baker. 
Every  article  is  charged  at  our  regular  price.” 

“ Oh  yes,  you  can.  Just  make  it  twenty-five  dol- 
lars, even  money.  Here  it  is,”  and  Baker  counted 
out  the  cash. 

“ I’m  sorry,  Mr.  Baker,  but  I cannot  afford  to 
deduct  any  thing.  If  you’d  only  owTed  me  twenty- 
five  dollars,  your  bill  would  have  been  just  that 
amount.  I would  not  have  added  a cent  beyond 
what  was  due,  nor  can  I take  any  thing  less  than 
my  own.” 

“ Then  you  won’t  deduct  the  odd  money  ?” 

“ I cannot,  indeed.” 

“Very  well.”  The  manner  of  the  customer 
changed.  He  was  evidently  offended.  “ The  bill 
is  too  high  by  just  the  sum  I asked  to  have  stricken 
off.  But  no  matter,  I can  pay  it.” 

“ Then  you  mean  to  insinuate,”  said  the  mechanic, 
who  was  an  independent  sort  of  a man,  “that  I 
am  cheating  you  out  of  two  dollars  and  forty-six 
cents  ?” 

“ I didn’t  say  so.” 

“ But  it  is  plain  that  you  think  so,  or  you  wouldn’t 
have  asked  an  abatement.  If  you  considered  my 
charges  just,  you  wouldn’t  dispute  them.” 

“Oh,  never  mind,  never  m.nd!  we’ll  not  waste 


GOING  TO  THE  DOGS. 


155 


words  about  it.  Here’s  your  money,  said  Mr 
Baker  ; and  he  added  another  five-dollar  bill  to  thn 
sum  he  had  laid  down.  The  mechanic  receipted 
the  account  and  gave  the  change,  both  of  which  his 
customer  thrust  into  his  pocket  with  a petulant  air, 
and  then  turned  and  left  the  store  without  another 
word. 

“It’s  the  last  bill  he  ever  has  against  me,”  mut- 
tered Baker  to  himself,  as  he  walked  away.  “ If 
that’s  his  manner  of  treating  customers,  he’ll  soon 
go  to  the  dogs.  He  was  downright  insulting,  and 
no  gentleman  will  stand  that  from  another,  much 
less  from  a vulgar  mechanic.  Mean  to  insinuate ! 
Humph  ! Yes,  I did  mean  to  insinuate  !”  and  Mr. 
Baker  involuntarily  quickened  his  pace.  “ He’ll 
soon  go  to  the  dogs.  I’ve  paid  him  a great  deal  of 
money,  but  it  is  the  last  dollar  of  mine  he  ever 
handles.” 

Baker  wTas  as  good  as  his  word.  He  withdrew 
his  custom  from  the  offending  mechanic,  and  gave 
it  to  another. 

“I’ve  got  one  of  your  old  customers,  Leonard,” 
said  a friend  in  the  same  business  to  the  mechanic, 
some  six  or  eight  months  afterward. 

“Ah!  who  is  it?” 

“ Baker.” 

Leonard  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“ How  came  you  to  lose  him  ?” 

“I’ll  tell  you  how  you  can  keep  him.” 

“ Well,  how  ?” 

“If  your  bill  amounts  to  thirty  dollars,  make  it 
thirty-three  and  a few  odd  cents,  by  increasing 
some  of  its  items.  He  will  want  the  surplus 


156 


GOING  TO  THE  DOGS. 


knocked  off,  which  you  can  afford  to  do ; then 
he  will  pay  it,  and  think  you  just  the  man  for 


“ You  lost  him,  then,  because  you  wouldn’t  abate 
any  thins:  from  a true  bill.” 

“I  did.” 

“ Thank  you.  But  suppose  my  bill  should  be 
twenty-six,  or  seven,  or  eight : what  then  ? I 
couldn’t  knock  off  the  odd  dollars  for  the  purpose 
of  making  it  even.” 

“ No.  In  that  case  you  must  add  until  you  get 
about  thirty.” 

“ And  fall  back  to  that?” 

u Yes.  It  will  be  knocking  off  the  odd  dollars, 
which  he  will  think  clear  gain.” 

“ That  would  hardly  be  honest.” 

“ Hardly.  But  you  must  do  it,  or  lose  his  cus- 
tom some  day  or  other.” 

“ I shall  have  to  accommodate  him,  I suppose. 
If  he  will  be  cheated,  it  can’t  be  helped.” 

On  the  very  first  bill  that  Baker  paid  to  his  new 
tradesman  he  obtained  an  abatement  of  one  dollar 
and  ninety  cents  odd  money,  but  actually  paid  three 
dollars  more  than  was  justly  due.  Still  he  was  very 
well  satisfied,  imagining  that  he  had  made  a saving 
of  one  dollar  and  ninety  cents.  The  not  over-scru- 
pulous tradesman  laughed  in  his  sleeve  and  kept 
his  customer. 

Having  withdrawn  his  support  from  Leonard,  it 
was  the  candid  opinion  of  Mr.  Baker  that  he  was 
“ going  to  the  dogs,”  as  he  expressed  it,  about  as 
fast  as  a man  could  go.  He  often  passed  the  shop, 
but  rarely  saw  a customer. 


GOING  TO  THE  DOGS. 


157 


‘‘No  wonder,”  he  would  say  to  himself.  “A 
man  like  him  can’t  expect  and  doesn’t  deserve  cus- 
tom.” 

In  the  eyes  of  Baker,  the  very  grass  seemed  to 
grow  upon  the  pavement  before  the  door  of  the 
declining  tradesman.  Dust  settled  thickly  in  his 
window,  and  the  old  sign  turned  grayer  and  grayer 
in  the  bleaching  air. 

“Going  to  the  dogs,  and  no  wonder,”  Baker 
would  say  to  himself,  as  he  went  by.  He  appeared 
tc  take  a strange  interest  in  watching  the  gradual 
decay  of  the  mechanic’s  fortunes.  One  day  a mer- 
cantile friend  said  to  him — 

“ Do  you  know  any  thing  about  this  Leonard  ?” 

“Why?”  asked  Baker. 

“ Because,  he  wants  to  make  a pretty  large  bill 
with  me.” 

“ On  time  ?” 

“Yes,  on  the  usual  credit  of  six  months.” 

“Don’t  sell  him.  Why,  the  man  is  going  to  the 
dogs  at  railroad  speed.” 

“ Indeed !” 

“ Yes,  I’m  looking  every  day  to  see  him  close  up. 
He  might  have  done  well,  for  he  understood  his 
business.  But  he’s  so  unaccommodating,  and  I 
may  say  insulting  to  his  customers,  that  he  drives 
the  best  ones  away.  I used  to  make  large  bills 
with  him,  but  haven’t  dealt  at  his  shop  now  for  some 
time.” 

“ Ah  ! I was  not  aware  of  that.  I am  glad  1 
spoke  to  you,  for  I shouldr  ’t  like  to  lose  six  or  seven 
hundred  dollars.” 

“ Six  or  seven  hundred  ! Is  it  possible  that  he 

14 


158 


GOINft  TO  THE  DOGS. 


wants  to  buy  so  recklessly ! Take  my  advice,  and 
don’t  think  of  trusting  him.” 

“ 1 certainly  shall  not.” 

When  LeDnard  ordered  the  goods,  the  merchant 
declined  selling  except  for  cash. 

“ As  you  please,”  returned  the  mechanic  indiffer- 
ently, and  went  elsewhere  and  made  his  purchases. 

It  happened  that  Mr.  Leonard  had  a very  pretty 
and  interesting  daughter,  on  whose  education  the 
mechanic  had  bestowed  great  pains ; and  it  also 
happened  that  Baker  had  a son  who,  in  most  things, 
was  a “ chip  of  the  old  block.”  Particularly  was 
he  like  his  father  in  his  great  love  of  money,  and 
scarcely  had  he  reached  his  majority,  ere  he  began 
to  look  about  him  with  a careful  eye,  to  a good 
matrimonial  arrangement,  by  which  plenty  of  money 
would  be  secured. 

Adelaide  Leonard,  on  account  of  her  beauty  and 
accomplishments,  was  much  caressed,  and  mingled 
free  in  society.  Young  Baker  had  met  her  fre- 
quently, and  could  not  help  being  struck  with  her 
beauty,  intelligence,  and  grace. 

“ There  is  a charm  for  you,”  said  a friend  to  him 
one  evening. 

“In  Miss  Leonard?” 

“Yes.” 

“ She’s  a charming  girl,”  replied  the  young 
man.  “ I wonder  if  her  father  is  worth  any  thing?” 

“ People  say  so.” 

“Indeed.” 

“ Yes.  They  say  the  old  fellow  has  laid  up  some- 
thing quite  handsome ; and  as  Adelaide  is  his  only 
child,  she  will  of  course  get  it  all.” 


GOING  TO  THE  DOGS. 


159 


“ I was  not  aware  of  that.” 

“ It  is  all  so,  I believe.” 

After  this,  young  Baker  was  exceedingly  atten- 
tive to  Miss  Leonard,  and  made  perceptible  inroads 
upon  her  heart.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  visit 
pretty  regularly  at  her  house,  and  was  meditating 
an  avowal  of  his  attachment,  when  his  father  said  to 
him  one  day— 

“ What  young  lady  was  that  I saw  you  with  in 
the  street  yesterday  afternoon?” 

“ Her  name  is  Leonard.” 

“ The  daughter  of  old  Leonard  in  — — street  ?” 
“ Yes,  sir.” 

Mr.  Baker  looked  grave,  and  shook  his  head. 
u Do  you  know  any  thing  about  her?”  asked  the 
son. 

“ Nothing  about  her;  but  I know  that  her 
father  is  going  to  the  dogs  as  fast  as  ever  a man 
went,” 

u Indeed!  I thought  he  was  well  off,” 

“ Oh  no,  I’ve  been  looking  to  see  his  shop  shut 
up,  or  to  hear  of  his  being  sold  out  by  the  sheriff, 
every  day,  for  these  two  years  past,” 

“Miss  Leonard  is  a very  lovely  girl,” 

“ She’s  the  daughter  of  a poor,  vulgar  mechanic. 
If  you  see  any  thing  so  very  lovely  in  that,  Henry, 
you  have  a strange  taste,” 

“ There  is  no  gainsaying  Adelaide’s  personal 
attractions,”  replied  the  son,  “ but  if  her  father  is 
poor,  that  settles  the  matter  as  far  as  she  and  I are 
concerned,  I am  glad  you  introduced  the  subject, 
for  I might  have  committed  myself,  and  when  too 
late  discovered  my  error,” 


ifiO 


GOING  TO  THE  HOGS. 


“And  a sad  error  it  would  have  been,  Henry. 
In  any  future  matter  of  this  kind,  I hope  you  will 
be  perfectly  frar.k  with  me.  I have  a much  more 
accurate  knowledge  of  the  condition  and  standing 
of  people  than  you  can  possibly  have.” 

The  son  promised  to  do  as  his  father  wished. 
From  that  time  the  visits  to  Miss  Leonard  were 
abated,  and  his  attentions  to  her,  when  they  met  in 
society,  became  coldly  formal.  The  sweet  young 
girl,  whose  feelings  had  really  been  interested,  felt 
the  change,  and  was  for  a time  unhappy;  but  in  a 
few  months  she  recovered  herself,  and  was  again  as 
bright  and  cheerful  as  usual. 

Time  went  steadily  on,  sweeping  down  one  and 
setting  up  another,  and  still  old  Leonard  didn't  go 
to  the  dogs,  much  to  the  surprise  of  Baker,  who 
could  not  imagine  how  the  mechanic  kept  his  head 
above  water  after  having  driven  away  his  best  cus- 
tomers, as  he  must  long  since  have  done,  if  all  were 
treated  as  he  had  been.  But  he  was  satisfied  of  one 
thing,  at  least,  and  that  was  that  the  mechanic  ?aust 
be  miserably  poor,  as  he,  in  fact,  deserved  to  be, 
according  to  his  idea  of  the  matter. 

One  day,  about  a year  after  his  timely  caution  to 
his  son  in  regard  to  Miss  Leonard,  Baker  happened 
to  pass  along  a street  where  he  had  not  been  for 
some  months.  Just  opposite  a large,  new,  and 
beautiful  house,  to  which  the  painters  were  giving 
their  last  touches,  he  met  a friend.  As  they  passed. 
Baker  said — 

“ That's  an  elegant  house.  It  has  been  built 
since  I was  in  this  neighbourhood.” 


GOING  TO  THE  DOGS. 


161 


“Yes,  it  is  a very  fine  house,  and  I suppose 
didn’t  cost  less  than  fifteen  thousand  dollars.” 

“ No,  I should  think  not.  Who  built  it  ? Do 
you  know  ?” 

“ Yes.  It  was  built  by  Leonard.” 

•‘By  whom  ?”  Baker  looked  surprised. 

“ By  old  Leonard.  You  know  him.” 

“ Impossible ! He’s  not  able  to  build  a house 
like  that.” 

“ Oh  yes,  he  is,  and  a half  a dozen  more,  if 
necessary.” 

“ Leonard  !” 

“ Certainly.  Why,  he’s  worth  at  least  seventy 
thousand  dollars.” 

“You  must  be  in  error.” 

“ No.  His  daughter  is  to  be  married  next  month 
to  an  excellent  young  man,  and  this  house  has  been 
built  and  is  to  be  handsomely  furnished  as  a mar- 
riage present.” 

“ Incredible ! I thought  he  was  going  or  had 
gone  to  the  dogs  long  ago.” 

“ Leonard  !”  The  friend  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing aloud.  “ He  go  to  the  dogs.  Oh,  no.  There 
isn’t  a man  in  his  trade  that  does  so  good  a busi- 
ness, as  little  show  as  he  makes.  Good  work,  good 
prices,  and  punctuality  are  the  cardinal  virtues  of 
his  establishment,  and  make  all  substantial.  How 
in  the  world  could  you  take  up  such  a notion?” 

“ I don’t  know,  but  such  has  been  my  impression 
for  a long  time,”  replied  Baker,  who  felt  exceed- 
ingly cut  down  on  account  of  the  mistake  he  had 
made,  and  particularly  so  in  view  of  the  elegant 
house  and  seventy  thousand  dollars,  which  might  all 

14* 


162 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


have  belonged  to  his  son,  in  time,  if  he  had  not 
fallen  into  such  an  egregious  error  about  old 
Leonard. 

So  the  world  moves  on.  People  are  prone  to 
think  that  what  they  smile  on  lives,  and  what  they 
frown  on  is  blighted  and  must  die 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 

"Let  him  that  standeth,  take  heed,”  &c. 

“ There’s  been  another  c burst  up’  in  Pearl 
street,”  said  Mr.  B.,  entering  the  store  of  Mr.  A., 
in  Maiden  Lane. 

“ Indeed!  and  who  is  it?”  asked  Mr.  A.,  with 
his  usual  expression  of  concern,  when  he  heard  that; 
a merchant  of  New  York  had  made  a failure  of  it. 

“Eldridge,  to  be  sure!  Who  would  have  dream 
ed  that  he  was  not  sound  at  the  core?” 

“Not  I,  certainly.  Nor  do  I believe  a word  of 
his  real  insolvency,  if  he  has  gone  by  the  board. 
No- — no!  Old  Eldridge  is  too  shrewd  a man  to  let 
his  affairs  become  tangled*.” 

“Then  what  do  you  think,  Mr.  A ?” 

“Think?  Why,  I think  there’s  something  rotten 
in  Denmark.” 

“You  judge  severely.” 

“I  always  suspect  unfair  play  when  such  men  as 
Mr.  Eldridge  fail.” 


OxVE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


163 


“And  he  is  the  last  man  I would  suspect,”  said 
Mr.  B . 

“I’ve  seen  too  much  of  the  world,  and  am  too 

old  now  to  be  humbugged,”  Mr.  A replied, 

with  a selfish  grin. 

“A  meeting  of  creditors  has  been  called  for  this 
morning,  at  eleven  o’clock.” 

“There  has!  Well,  as  he’s  into  me  to  the  tune 
of  some  five  or  six  thousand  dollars,  I shall  most 
certainly  be  there.” 

“But  before  you  come,”  said  Mr.  B , “try  to 

divest  your  mind  of  the  idea  of  fraud,  so  that  you 
can,  with  the  rest  of  us,  enter  into  a just  and  hu- 
mane examination  of  his  affairs.” 

“Pish!  Humane!  Yes,  there  it  comes!  That 
is  the  way!  Whenever  a man  wants  to  tip  over 
and  pocket  a few  thousands  that  belong  to  his  cre- 
ditors, he  gets  some  one  to  raise  the  cry  of  huma- 
nity. But  it  won’t  do  for  me,  Mr.  B ; I don’t 

bite  at  such  bait.” 

Indignant  at  the  unfeeling  insolence  of  the  mer 

chant,  Mr.  B turned  away  from  him  without 

replying,  and  left  his  store. 

On  the  same  morning,  a scene  was  passing  in  one 
of  the  splendid  dwellings  in  Mott  street,  that  well 
might  touch  the  heart.  An  elderly  man  was  seated 
in  the  parlour,  near  the  fire,  lost  in  deep  and  pain- 
ful thought;  but  neither  of  his  three  beautiful 
daughters,  nor  their  mother,  knew  of  what  was  in 
his  mind. 

Adeline,  the  eldest,  was  seated  at  the  piano,  en- 
deavouring to  perfect  herself  in  a new  and  difficult 
piece  of  music;  and  Constance  and  Margaretta 


164 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


were  engaged  in  a conversation  about  a splendid 
fete  to  be  given  in  Park  Place,  the  invitations  to 
which  had  that  morning  been  handed  in. 

44  Every  thing,  they  say,  is  to  be  on  a grand 
scale,”  remarked  Constance. 

“Too  grand,  I’m  afraid,”  Margaretta  replied, 
“for  pleasure.  But,  I suppose,  we  will  have  to 

g0*” 

“Of  course,  we  will,”  said  Constance.  “It 
would  never  do  to  miss  the  most  splendid  4 come 
off,’  as  they  call  it,  of  the  season.” 

44 1 wonder  where  these  magnificent  affairs  will 
stop.  None  but  millionaires  can  afford  them. — 
High  ho ! I suppose,  pa,  we  can’t  yet  rank  our- 
selves with  that  class,”  said  the  happy  hearted  girl, 
laughing  as  she  turned  toward  her  father. 

“What  did  you  say,  Margaretta?”  asked  the  lat- 
ter, thus  suddenly  roused  from  his  revery,  while  a 
shadow  flitted  over  his  countenance. 

44 1 was  saying,  pa,  that  we  could  not  yet  rank 
ourselves  with  the  millionaires,”  she  replied,  not  ob- 
serving the  expression  of  his  face. 

The  deep  and  almost  convulsive  sigh  that  follow- 
ed this  remark,  and  the  evident  pain  it  gave, 
arrested  the  attention  of  each  one  present,  and 
they  turned  toward  him  with  glances  of  anxious 
inquiry.  A pause  of  a few  moments  followed, 
vlien  the  husband  and  father  nerved  himself  to  the 
task  that  had  to  be  performed,  and  said,  while  hia 
voice  trembled — 

44 My  dear  children;  and  you,  Anna,  who  have 
been  with  me  in  humble  life  as  well  as  in  affluence; 
I have  sad  news  to  tell,  and  it  almost  breaks  my 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


165 


heart  to  utter  it.  I am  that  thing  of  scorn  and 
persecution,  a broken  merchant !” 

Pale  cheeks  and  tearful  eyes  followed  this  sudden, 
undreamed  of  announcement.  And  well  they  might, 
for  such  an  event  usually  carries  with  it  a degree 
of  hopelessness  that  none  can  imagine  but  they  who 
have  experienced  it. 

44  Were  it  not  for  you,  my  wife,  and  you,  dear 
children,  I should  care  but  little,”  was  at  length 
said,  and  as  this  remark  caused  every  eye  again  to 
seek  the  merchant’s  face,  each  was  doubly  pained 
to  see  tear  after  tear  rolling  over  his  cheeks,  now 
browned  and  time-worn. 

44  Do  not  think  of  us,  dear  father  !”  said  Adeline, 
instantly  springing  to  his  side,  and  drawing  her 
arm  round  his  neck.  44  Be  your  lot  what  it  may, 
we  will  share  it  cheerfully.” 

44  You  know  not  what  it  is,  my  children,  to  be 
cast  down,  suddenly,  from  a place  in  society  such  as 
we  have  occupied.  To  be  passed  in  the  street  by 
your  former  intimate  friends,  without  notice.  I 
know  you  cannot  bear  it !” 

44  Indeed,  father,  these  things  are  nothing  to  us, 
in  comparison  with  you  and  your  happiness,”  said 
Margaretta  and  Constance,  drying  their  tears  and 
gathering  around  him,  one  with  a hand  in  his,  and 
the  other  leaning  fondly  on  his  shoulder.  44  For 
your  sake,  we  will  bear  any  thing.” 

44  May  heaven  bless  you,  my  dear  children!”  said 
the  old  man,  fervently.  44  And  I know  it  will  bless 
you,  for  your  pure  affection.  Only  try  to  be  pa- 
tient and  cheerful,  and  we  may  again  hold  up  our 
heads.” 


166 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


44  Trust  us,  dear  father  I”  Adeline  joined  in  say- 
ing. 44  If  our  cheerful  endurance  of  any  re\erse 
that  may  come  upon  us,  will  strengthen  your  heart, 
then  you  need  not  despond.” 

The  father  bent  his  head,  in  silence,  for  a few 
moments,  and  then  said,  more  calmly — 

64  Recent  failures  in  the  West  have  swept  from 
me,  suddenly,  so  large  an  amount  of  capital,  that 
I can  go  on  no  longer  in  business ; and  I very  much 
fear,  from  the  standing  of  other  country  merchants 
who  are  indebted  to  my  house  largely,  that  I shall 
not  only  come  out  without  a dollar,  but  be  insolvent 
to  a large  amount.  Thus,  you  see,  that  our  fall 
will  be  low  indeed.” 

44  We  would  rather  live  in  honourable  and  honest 
obscurity,  and  even  poverty,”  said  Constance,  em- 
phatically— 44  than  move  in  princely  splendour,  were 
our  father  to  act  as  some  merchants,  who  have 
failed,  and  still  retained  all  their  former  style  of 
living,  are  said  to  have  acted.” 

44  Spoken  like  my  own  child  !”  the  father  an- 
swered, tenderly  kissing  her.  44 1 fear  your  noble 
principles  will  soon  receive  a severe  test.” 

44  None  of  us  will  fail  you,  pa,”  the  others  added, 
smiling  affectionately,  though  sadly.  44  We  would 
be  unworthy  so  good  a father,  did  we  shrink  a mo- 
ment from  duty.” 

44  This  morning  will  fix  our  fate,”  said  the  mer 
chant,  rising.  44  My  creditors  meet  at  eleven  o'clock, 
and  there  are  those  among  them  who  know  not  the 
word  4 mercy.'  We  will,  without  doubt,  soon  be 
stripped  of  every  thing.” 

44  Despair  is  never  quite  desjair,  pa,”  Adeline 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


167 


said,  holding  his  hand,  and  looking  him  encourag- 
ingly in  the  face. 

“God  bless  you,  my  children !”  was  all  the  mer- 
chant could  utter,  as  he  lifted  from  the  table  a 
bundle  of  papers  and  hurried  away. 

Half  an  hour  after,  he  entered  a room  over  a 
broker’s  office  in  Wall  street,  where  he  found  wait- 
ing for  him  twelve  or  fifteen  men.  Some  of  them 
received  him  kindly  as  he  came  in,  but  the  majority 
regarded  him  with  clouded  brows,  and  some  one  or 
two  with  scowls  of  selfish  malignancy. 

“You  know  the  object  of  this  meeting,  gen- 
tlemen,” said  he,  after  seating  himself.  “Here  is 
a statement  of  my  affairs.” 

“I  never  should  have  expected  this  from  you , 
Mr.  Eldridgey”  remarked  one  of  the  creditors,  look- 
ing at  him  reproachfully. 

“ But,  Mr.  L , I am  not  wilfully  in  this  situa- 

tion.” 

“No,  of  course  not,”  Mr.  L , tossing  his  head 

significantly,  replied, 

“ Oh,  no — everybody  who  fails  is  the  pink  of 

honesty,”  broke  in  Mr.  A , with  an  angry  glance 

at  Eldridge. 

“Mr.  A , I cannot  permit  such  remarks,”  the 

debtor  responded  firmly. 

“ I winder  how  you’ll  help  it,  sir,”  Mr.  A 

said  fiercely,  springing  to  his  feet,  while  his  face 
grew  dark  with  anger.  “I  never  believe  in  your 
honest  failures,”  he  continued.  “What  right  have 
you  or  any  one  else  to  risk  my  property?  What” — 

But  he  was  cut  short  by  a motion  from  an  indi- 
vidual present,  calling  another  to  the  chair.  Aa 


168 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT' CLASS. 


Boon  as  the  meeting  was  thus  organized,  Mr.  A— 
attempted  to  go  on,  but  was  compelled  by  the  chair- 
man to  take  his  seat,  which  he  did,  muttering  bitter 
invectives  against  the  unfortunate  debtor. 

“And  now,”  said  the  chairman  of  the  meeting, 
“we  should  be  pleased  to  have  your  statement,  Mr. 
Eldridge.” 

The  creditor  then  proceeded  to  submit  a full  his- 
tory of  his  affairs.  He  was  indebted,  according  to 
this,  on  all  accounts,  in  the  sum  of  one  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars.  As  an  offset,  his  books  showed 
as  due  him  on  merchandise,  bills  receivable,  and 
claims  in  suit,  two  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  he 
had,  besides,  property  which  had  cost  him  forty 
thousand  dollars.  But  of  this  fifty  thousand  dollars 
was  known  to  be  a dead  loss,  and  nearly  an  equal 
sum,  owing  to  the  continued  depression  of  business, 
was  set  down  as  “doubtful  and  desperate*”  The 
real  estate  would  not  now,  if  thrown  into  market, 
bring  twenty  thousand  dollars.  In  closing  this  state- 
ment, he  proposed  to  give  up  every  thing  into  the 
hands  of  a trustee,  provided  each  creditor  would 
sign  a release,  and  thus  give  him  a chance  to  get  on 
his  feet  again.  On  taking  his  seat,  the  first  man 
who  took  the  floor  was  Mr.  A . 

“I  see  plain  enough,”  said  he,  addressing  the 
chairman  of  the  meeting,  “ that  here  is  to  be  another 
one  of  the  many  late  attempts  at  wiping  off  all  old 
scores.  But  I,  for  one,  am  determined  that  I will 
release  no  man.  It’s  high  time  this  system  of  re- 
leasing men  was  broken  up.  It’s  a premium  on 
insolvency;  or  roguery,  I should  have  said.  If  men 
knew  that  they  would  have  to  toe  the  mark  up  to 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


169 


the  last  cent,  there  wouldn’t  be  so  many,  who  know 
nothing  about  doing  business,  rushing  into  its  intri- 
cacies, dividing  and  sub-dividing  it  until  it’s  good 
for  nothing,  and  then  taking  in  honest  merchants. 
You’ll  never  hear  of  me  failing,  sir.  No — no.  I 
belong  to  the  solvent  class!” 

Here  Mr.  A , whose  idea  of  his  belonging  to 

the  solvent  class,  when  once  expressed,  so  excited 
his  selfish  vanity,  that  he  lost  the  thread  of  what  he 
was  going  to  say,  had  to  sit  down.  Before  he  had 
time  to  recover  his  thoughts,  another  merchant  pre- 
sent addressed  the  meeting. 

“No  one,”  said  he,  “could  have  been  taken  more 
by  surprise  than  myself  at  learning  that  our  friend 
Mr.  Eldridge  had  been  compelled  to  suspend.  But 
my  confidence  in  his  integrity  and  honourable  prin- 
ciple has  been  unbounded,  and  is  unshaken  now. 
A statement  of  his  affairs  shows  conclusively  the 
cause  of  his  present  embarrassment.  There  are 
four  firms  in  the  West,  by  which  we  all  have  suffered, 
that  I find  have  broken  in  upon  Mr.  Eldridge’s  busi- 
ness to  a very  heavy  amount.  Most  of  us  did  not 
hesitate  to  sell  them  freely,  and  no  one  can  blame 
him  for  doing  the  same.  Besides  this,  he  has  been 
seriously  :nvolved  in  the  numerous  failures  that  have 
taken  place  in  our  own  city.  That  he  is  unfor- 
tunate, is  the  hardest  term  we  can  apply  to  him; 
and,  as  such,  he  claims  our  sympathy  and  kind  con- 
sideration. No  one  of  us  knows  how  soon  he,  from 
unforeseen  causes,  may  be  reduced  to  a like  ex- 
tremity. I most  certainly  go  for  releasing  him.” 

“Let  me  beg  the  gentleman,”  said  Mr.  A , 

rising  hastily,  and  displaying  much  heat,  “not  to 

15 


170 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


include  me  among  his  prospective  insolvents.  1 
belong  to  the  other  class.  I never  expect  to  fail, 
and  rob  honest  people  of  their  rights.  I do  business 
on  higher  and  better  principles.  No  man  has  an y 
right  to  fail ! No  man  need  fail  who  has  common 
prudence  and  common  honesty.  He  shall  never 
have  my  name.  He  shall  rot  in  a prison  first.  I’m 
determined  to  make  an  example  of  these  kind  ol 
humbug  merchants.  Let  them  all  be  swept  awTay, 
and  then  we  shall  have  good  times  again — curse  on 
them  !” 

“ But  you  can  gain  nothing,  Mr.  A , by  such 

a course, ” the  debtor  said  calmly.  “I  give  you  up 
all.  Nor  wiU^  I consider  your  release  of  me  from 
legal  obligations  a moral  exoneration.  Only  take 
off  the  manacles — give  me  a chance,  and  I may  yet 
be  able  to  pay  even  to  the  last  cent.” 

“ Pish  f”  was  the  creditor’s  sneering  ejaculation. 
“ Catch  me  such  a fool  as  to  trust  to  a broken  mer- 
chant’s honour.  I’ve  seen  too  many  of  the  tribe.” 

“ Shame  i shame!”  cried  two  or  three  voices. 

Mr.  A vs  face  grew  black  with  anger. 

“You  needn’t  try  to  operate  on  me,  gentlemen,” 
he  said,  in  a loud,  positive  tone.  “I  am  made  of 
stuff  not  to  be  bent.  I solemnly  swear,  that  I will 
never  release  him,  nor  any  of  the  rest  of  you  either 
if  you  attempt  to  play  the  same  game.” 

“Let  us  take  the  sense  of  the  meeting,”  said  one. 

“The  sense  of  the  meeting,”  said  another. 

“Shall  the  sense  of  the  meeting  be  taken ?”  asked 
the  chairman. 

“Ay” — “ay” — “ay,”  ran  round  the  room,  and 
the  chairman  said — 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


17  L 


“ All  who  are  in  favour  of  accepting  an  assign- 
ment of  Mr.  Eldridge’s  property,  real  and  per- 
sonal and  then  granting  him  a full  release,  will 
say  Ay. 

Many  voices  responded  in  the  affirmative,  and 
then  the  chairman  put  the  negative. 

“NO !”  said  Mr.  A , in  a loud,  positive  voice — 

and  “No” — “no” — “no,”  came  from  three  others, 
but  in  tones  far  less  emphatic. 

“Now  let  us  see  how  far  the  ayes  and  nays  repre- 
sent the  amount  claimed  from  Mr.  Eldridge.” 

On  examination,  it  was  found  that  those  who  were 
in  favour  of  accepting  the  assignment,  and  releasing 
the  debtor,  were  creditors  to  the  amount  of  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty  thousand  dollars,  and  the  twenty 
thousand  were  due  to  those  who  refused  to  release 
him — six  thousand  of  this  to  Mr.  A . 

“ To  you,  who  have  thus  so  kindly  considered  and 
felt  for  my  painful  situation,”  said  Mr.  Eldridge, 
“ I must  be  permitted  to  express  my  deep  gratitude 
— and  of  you  who  do  not  seem  to  regard  me  as 
honest,  I must  certainly  beg  a reconsideration  of 
your  present  views.  Unless  you  all  agree,  nothing, 
I fear,  can  be  done.  Even  if  a portion  of  you  were 
to  release  me,  how  could  I possibly  bear  up,  without 
any  money  to  sustain  me,  against  the  balance  of  the 
claims?  I could  not  pay  them.” 

“ Suppose  we  adjourn  the  meeting  until  eleven 
o’clock  to-morrow  morning.  Perhaps  by  that  time 
those  that  object  to  the  measure  may  think  better 
of  it,”  suggested  one. 

“Don’t  flatter  yourself,”  said  Mr.  A 

togly. 


, sneer- 


172 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


“I  move  that  we  adjourn  until  to-morrow  morn- 
ing at  eleven  o’clock, ” said  Mr.  B . 

The  motion  was  seconded,  and  carried,  and  the 
meeting  accordingly  adjourned. 

Mr.  A walked  down  Wall  street  with  a Mr. 

T , also  one  of  the  objectors  to  the  release. 

“I  don’t  know,  Mr.  A ,”  said  the  latter, 

“ but  I’m  half  inclined  to  think  that  I shall  vote  to- 
morrow for  the  release  of  Eldridge.” 

“ You’ll  be  a fool  if  you  do,  let  me  tell  you  that  !” 
responded  A . 

“ I can’t  see  any  good  that  is  to  grow  out  of 
refusing.” 

“ Can’t  you,  indeed!  Well,  perhaps  I can  en- 
lighten you  a little.” 

“I  wish  you  would — for  light  on  the  subject 
would  certainly  be  very  acceptable.” 

“ It’s  the  only  way  you  will  ever  get  the  whole 
of  your  money.” 

“How  can  that  be,  when  the  debtor  is  insolvent?” 

“ If  we  positively  refuse  a compromise,”  said 

A , “the  rest  of  the  creditors  will  buy  us  off. 

The  estate,  I am  convinced,  will  pay  seventy-five 
cents  on  the  dollar.  We  would  be  entitled  to  that 
much  any  how;  and  for  the  sake  of  getting  us  to 
release  old  Eldridge,  some  of  the  very  hitman e ones 
will  propose  to  allow  us  our  full  claims,  and  the  rest 
will  come  into  it.  That’s  the  way  I always  do,  and 
I get  my  full  amount  four  times  out  of  five.” 

“ There  is  not  much  danger  of  you,  I see,” 
remarked  T . 

“ No,  that  there  is  not.  I claim  my  own,  and 
will  have  it.  I’m  one  of  the  solvent  ones,  and  can* 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


173 


not  sympathize  with  men  who  want  to  get  off  with- 
out paying  their  debts.  There  are  two  or  three 
men  among  Eldridge’s  creditors  who  are  a little 
ticklish  ; and  they  owe  me.  I want  to  let  them  see 
just  what  they  have  to  expect.” 

“ And  what  good  will  that  do,  Mr.  A — — ?” 

“A  great  deal.  They’ll  take  care  to  be  off  of 
my  books  before  they  knock  under.” 

T parted  with  A under  a high  idea  of 

his  shrewdness,  resolving  to  imitate  so  fair  a speci- 
men of  a prudent  and  safe  merchant. 

“ Well  he  may  say  that  he  belongs  to  the  solvent 
class,”  he  remarked  to  himself,  as  he  walked 
musingly  along.  “ It  requires  more  shrewdness 
than  I dreamed  of  to  get  on  safely  in  these 
times.” 

At  eleven  o’clock  on  the  next  morning,  the 
second  meeting  of  creditors  was  held.  The  friends 
of  the  debtor  had,  in  the  mean  time,  been  at  work 
upon  those  who  had  refused  on  the  day  previous  to 
sign  off.  All  had  agreed  to  the  arrangement  but 

A , and  his  friend  and  prot^gd,  T . Them, 

neither  argument  nor  persuasion  could  move.  In 
vain  did  Eldridge  represent  to  them  his  condition, 
stripped,  prospectively,  of  every  thing,  and  with 
a family  raised  amid  plenty  looking  up  to  him  for 
support. 

“Surely,  Mr.  A. ,”  he  said,  “misfortune  is 

not  crime.” 

“ Every  bankrupt  speculator  is  criminal !”  A 

responded,  angrily. 

“ I deny  the  implied  allegation.  It  is  false,  and 
basely  so,”  Eldridge  replied,  his  honest  blood 

15* 


174 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


aroused  to  indignation.  “ I never  speculated  to  the 
amount  of  a single  dollar !” 

Shame  ! shame ! shame ! None  but  a base 
wretch  could  thus  insult  the  unfortunate  !”  were 
the  responses  which  broke  from  many  lips. 

“Mr.  Chairman, ” said  one  of  the  creditors, 

rising,  “ the  claims  of  Mr.  A and  Mr.  T 

amount  to  but  eight  thousand  dollars.  I propose 
that  they  be  paid  off  in  full,  and  that  the  rest  of  us 
take  the  assignment,  and  give  Mr.  Eldridge  an 
honourable  release.  It  will  reduce  our  dividend  but 
an  unimportant  trifle.  You  cannot  choke  them  oft* 
in  any  other  way.  I know  them,  and  I think  we 
all  know  them.,, 

“ I am  as  anxious  as  any  one  to  see  Mr.  Eldridge 
here,  whom  we  all  know  to  be  honest  and  honour- 
able, released ; but  I have  no  idea  of  rewarding 
unfeeling  cupidity  in  the  way  you  propose,”  said 
another. 

“ But  there  is  no  way  of  avoiding  it,  unless  we 
punish  the  innocent  with  the  guilty.” 

“ That  is  the  difficulty,”  replied  the  other,  musing. 
“Well,”  he  continued,  “I  suppose  there  is  no  help 
for  it.  I shall  have  to  waive  my  objections.” 

The  matter  was  now  put  to  vote,  and  they  decided 
to  accept  the  assignment,  and  pay  off  in  full  the 
two  obstinate  creditors. 

No  one  can  imagine,  but  he  who  has  passed 
through  a like  scene  of  trial,  how  much  of  suffering 
was  condensed  into  the  few  days  that  elapsed  from 
the  time  Mr.  Eldridge  became  conscious  of  his 
inability  to  continue  his  business,  until  every  thing 
was  settled,  and  he  thrown,  at  the  age  of  fifty, 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


175 


penniless  upon  the  world.  Not  that  he  shrunk 
back  in  painful  dread  at  the  prospect  before  him 
and  his  family,  but  from  the  sickening  conscious- 
ness that  he  could  not,  and  might  never  be  able  to 
pay  others  their  just  dues — from  the  instinctive 
repugnance  he  had  to  meet  face  to  face  those  whom 
he  owed,  and  say  to  them,  “ I cannot  pay  my  obli- 
gations !”  Every  one,  he  thought,  must  blame  him. 
Even  those  who  befriended  and  stood  by  him,  must, 
he  felt,  because  they  were  sufferers,  entertain  some- 
thing of  a distrust  toward  him.  All  this  was  agony 
to  a mind  like  his ; but  he  nerved  himself  for  the 
time,  and  happily  passed  through  it. 

After  every  thing  was  fairly  arranged,  and  the 
creditors,  with  consideration  and  humanity,  had 
voluntarily  agreed  to  let  him  retain  the  furniture  in 
his  house,  he  came  home,  and  calling  his  family 
around  him,  said— 

“ Now,  my  dear  children,  the  storm  is  about 
reaching  you.  But  I trust  your  fortitude  will  keep 
you  up.  Your  mother  and  myself  think,  that  as 
circumstances  are  so  greatly  changed,  we  should 
change  our  style  of  living.  Indeed,  it  is  absolutely 
necessary,  for  we  could  not  support  it  two  months. ” 

“ We  have  settled  all  that,  pa,”  Adeline  said, 
smiling.  “ You  are  to  get  a smaller  and  cheaper 
house,  and  to  sell  off  a good  deal  of*  the  costly  fur- 
niture. Constance  and  I intend  teaching  music 
and  drawing ; . and  Margaret  is  going  to  assist 
mother  about  the  house,  so  that  wr«e  will  only  have 
to  keep  a cook.  How  do  you  like  that  arrange- 
ment 

“ Better  than  any  I could  have  proposed.  STou 


176 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


do  not  know,  my  children,  what  a load  you  have 
taken  from  my  heart.  We  shall  yet,  I feel,  lift  our 
heads.  I am  still  as  capable  of  doing  business  as 
ever,  and  must  soon  get  into  something.  In  the 
mean  time,  we  can  realize  at  least  a thousand  dol- 
lars on  our  useless  and  surplus  furniture ; and  this, 
with  your  efforts  at  teaching  music  and  drawing, 
will  keep  us  comfortably  for  a year.  Ere  that 
expires,  I shall  be  in  some  business,  I hope.” 

“ There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  be  unhappy,” 
said  Adeline  when  her  father  ceased  speaking.  “ 1 
am  sure  that  I feel  more  cheerful  in  prospect  of 
doing  what  we  propose,  than  I ever  did  in  prospect 
of  any  thing  in  my  life.” 

“ There  is  no  doubt,  Adeline,”  said  her  father, 
“that  the  only  path  of  contentment  is  that  of  duty, 
cheerfully  entered  into.  I am  glad,  indeed,  that 
you  have  all  so  readily  and  willingly  entered  that 
path.  But  you  must  not  expect  all  to  be  pleasart. 
You  will  find  your  intimacies  of  years  broken  into. 
Old  friends  will  be  friends  no  longer.  Even  upon 
the  street,  you  will  find  yourself  passed  by  unno- 
ticed by  those  who  have  been  your  companions 
since  childhood.” 

“And  we  have  talked  all  that  over  too,  pa,”  said 
the  affectionate  girl,  looking  him  in  the  face  with  a 
smile  that  had  in  it  much  of  sadness.  “It  is  hard, 
of  course,  but  we  must  bear  it.  Already  I have 
had  my  first  trial,  Yesterday,  while  out  for  a little 

while,  I met  Florence  A , and  she  passed  me 

just  as  if  I were  a perfect  stranger.  I know  she 
saw  me,  for  she  looked  right  into  my  face,  and  I 
paused,  naturally,  smiling,  to  speak  to  her.  We 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


117 


have  been  intimate,  you  know,  for  years.  1 felt  it, 
for  the  time,  keenly,  and  thought  it  a most  cruel 
slight.  But  I can  think  calmly  about  it  now.  Such 
heartless  friends  are  not  worth  retaining.” 

“And  most  certainly,  Adeline,  if  Florence  inhe- 
rits her  father’s  peculiar  spirit,  you  need  not  crave 
her  friendship.  He  positively  refused  to  release 
me,  even  after  giving  up  every  thing — charged  me 
with  dishonesty,  and  talked  about  seeing  me  rotting 
in  a jail ; and  I never  could  have  got  released,  if 
the  creditors  had  not  generously,  for  my  sake, 
agreed  to  pay  him  and  another,  as  heartless,  their 
entire  claims.” 

“Oh,  pa!  Is  it  possible  that  any  man  could  be 
so  unfeeling?” 

“Yes,  my  child,  there  are  many  such.  Nothing 
less  than  the  pound  of  flesh  will  suit  them.” 

“I  am  glad,  then,  that  Florence  cut  me;  for  I 
am  sure  that  I never  could  have  been  on  friendly 
terms  again  with  her.” 

As  the  girls  had  proposed,  numerous  articles  of 
furniture  were  sold,  and  the  family  then  removed 
into  a smaller  house,  at  a rent  of  four  hundred  dol- 
lars per  annum.  A sign  soon  made  its  appearance 
at  the  side  of  the  front  door,  with  the  announce- 
ment— “Music  and  Drawing  taught  by  the 
Misses  Eldridge.”  Several  of  the  daily  papers 
contained  their  advertisement. 

“Why,  see  here,  girls,”  said  a Mrs.  Coolidge, 
who  had  a growing  family,  and  a pretty  numerous 
one  too,  on  the  morning  that  their  advertisement 
appeared,  “the  Misses  Eldridge  advertise  to  teach 
music  and  drawing.  They  have  been  unfortunate, 


178 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


and  we  must  encourage  them.  Besides,  we  all  know 
how  exquisitely  Adeline  and  Constance  can  sing 
and  play,  and  they  are  such  amiable  young  la  dies 
into  the  bargain.  How  much  I admire  them  for 
thus  at  once  endeavouring  to  aid  their  father!” 

“ Four  of  us  are  taking  lessons  now,  and  we’ll  all 
go  there,  won’t  we,  ma?”  said  one  of  the  misses. 

“ Certainly,  I would  rather  you  would  go  there 
than  anywhere  else.  We  must  call  and  see  them 
this  very  afternoon.” 

Sure  enough,  Mrs.  Coolidge  and  her  two  eldest 
girls,  who  had  already  gone  into  company,  and  had 
been  on  friendly  terms  with  the  young  ladies  they 
proposed  to  visit,  prepared  to  go  out  that  afternoon, 
and  call  upon  Adeline  and  her  sisters.  Just  as 

they  were  ready,  Florence  A and  her  mother 

dropped  in.  After  a little  conversation  on  various 

unimportant  topics,  Mrs.  A said — 

“ So,  old  Eldridge  has  gone  all  to  pieces.  They 
say  he  has  made  a wonderful  bad  business  of  it,  and 
many  strongly  suspect  him  of  unfair  dealing.” 
“And  I see,”  broke  in  Florence,  “that  the  girls 
have  set  up  a music  and  drawing  school.  Who 
could  have  thought  they  would  ever  come  to  that  ? 
I should  not  think  they  could  hold  up  their  heads 
after  the  conduct  of  their  father.  But  there  are 
strange  people  in  the  world.  I saw  Adeline  once 
in  the  street  since,  and  she  looked  me  in  the  face 
as  unconcerned  as  ever.  I was  so  disgusted  at  her 
want  of  true  feeling,  that  I passed  her  unnoticed. 
I can’t  understand  some  people.” 

“ I should  think,  Mrs.  A ,”  said  Mrs.  Coolidge, 

44  that  the  fact  of  the  girls  being  compelled  to  open 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


i 79 


a school  ought  to  exonerate  the  father  from  any 
suspicion  ;>f  unfair  dealing.  Mr.  Coolidge  told  me 
that  he  was  one  of  the  creditors,  and  that  Mr.  El- 
dridge  honourably  gave  up  every  thing.” 

“ And  my  husband  told  me,”  responded  Mrs. 

A , “ that  matters  and  things  looked  bad 

Miough,  and  that  if  he  could  have  had  his  way  with 
him,  he  would  have  sent  him  to  prison,  as  he  de- 
served.” 

Mrs.  Coolidge  did  not  reply,  for  she  had  been 
told  of  Mr.  A— — ’s  unfeeling,  and  even  brutal  con- 
duct, and  gradually  changed  the  subject.  After 
the  visitors  had  retired,  she  went  out  as  she  had  de- 
signed, with  her  two  eidest  daughters,  and  called  on 
Mrs.  Eldridge  and  the  girls.  The  two  families  had 
been  on  intimate  terms.  After  a brief  and  friendly 
conversation,  and  a renewal  of  kind  feelings,  Mrs. 
Coolidge  proposed  to  send  four  of  her  girls  to  re- 
ceive lessons  in  music,  and  also  in  drawing.  The 
terms  were  named  and  agreed  upon,  when  she 
said — 

“I  think,  Adeline,  I can  get  you  a good  many 
scholars.  If  you  have  no  objection,  I will  go  among 
some  of  your  former  friends,  many  of  whom,  I doubt 
not,  have  nearly  forgotten  you  already,  and  stir  up 
an  interest  in  your  favour.” 

“You  are  very  kind,  Mrs.  Coolidge,”  Adeline  re 
plied,  with  feeling.  “ I am  willing,  for  one,  to  rest 
our  cause  in  your  hands.  The  fact  of  our  setting 
up  a school  is,  of  course,  evidence  enough  that  we 
have  need  to  do  so.  All  we  now  want  are  scholars. 
Give  us  plenty  of  these,  and  we  will  ask  no  more.” 

“I’ll  see  what -I  can  do  for  you,  and  I intend  in- 


180 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


teresting  several  who  possess  influence.  We’ll  get' 
up  a good  school  among  us,  depend  upon  it.” 

Mrs.  Coolidge  was  as  good  as  her  word.  She 
did  interest  herself,  and  very  soon  Adeline  and 
Constance  had  as  many  scholars  as  they  could  at- 
tend to,  which  brought  them  in  a very  handsome 
income — fully  enough  to  bear  all  the  expenses  of 
the  family. 

Mr.  Eldridge,  who  was  an  active  and  correct 
business  man,  opened  a commission  store,  and 
through  the  recommendations  of  some  of  his  old 
friends,  soon  got  consignments  to  a large  amount, 
and  profitable  in  their  character.  Gradually  he 
began  to  feel  that  he  was  again  rising,  though  very 
slowly.  Had  the  entire  burden  of  the  family  been 
upon  him,  he  wTould  have  had  an  income  little,  if 
any,  beyond  his  necessary  expenses ; but  his  daugh- 
ters’ school  continued  prosperous,  and  at  the  end  of 
the  first  year  was  established  on  a profitable  basis. 
Instead  of  having  to  spend  his  earnings,  he  had,  at 
the  end  of  the  period  just  named,  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  in  cash,  and  he  knew  very  well  how  to  turn 
it  judiciously.  The  end  of  the  second  year  found 
him  with  four  thousand  dollars,  with  a business 
yielding  a net  income  of  two  thousand.  Adeline, 
in  the  mean  time,  had  married  a young  merchant 
of  some  capital,  who  was  known  as  a careful  busi- 
ness man.  The  school,  now  conducted  by  Constanco 
and  Margaretta,  had  acquired  a reputation  in  New 
York  that  made  it  necessary  to  remove  to  a larger 
house,  which  had  been  fitted  up  on  a liberal  scale. 
Various  branches  were  taught,  under  the  charge  of 
competent  teachers,  and  the  wrhole  establishment 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


181 


was  too  promising  and  profitable  to  leave  room  for 
the  idea  of  abandoning  it,  even  if  their  father 
should  again  get  up  in  the  world,  as  things  seemed 
to  promise. 

Five  years  more  passed  away,  and  in  that  time 
Mr.  Eldridge  had  been  able  to  pay  off  every  dollar 
of  the  old  claims  against  him,  and  still  found  him- 
self certainly  worth  ten  thousand  dollars,  with  a 
fair  prospect  before  him  of  going  up  pretty  rapidly. 
It  so  happened  that  his  store  was  now  alongside  of 

Mr.  A ’s.  The  latter  individual  had  never 

taken  any  notice  of  him  since  his  failure,  and  he 
had  certainly  no  objection. 

An  event  occurred  at  this  time  in  New  York  the 
remembrance  and  the  effects  of  which  will  remain 
for  many  years  to  come.  I mean  the  great  fire.  It 
so  happened  that  but  a few  days  before,  an  arrival 

from  the  East  Indies  had  filled  A ’s  store  with 

silks  and  other  valuable  goods  to  the  amount  of 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars.  These  were  utterly 
consumed  in  the  terrible  conflagration.  But  it  so 
happened  that  the  fire,  in  that  direction,  was  arrested 
there,  and  Mr.  Eldridge’s  store  remained  untouched. 

A ’s  insurance  was  worthless,  and,  although  of 

the  “ solvent  class,”  he  was  ruined. 

No  one  seemed  to  feel  for  him,  who  had  never 
had  any  regard  for  the  misfortunes  of  others. 
Gradually  the  meagre  remnant,  or  shadow  of  pro- 
perty that  remained  was  exhausted;  and,  with  his 
wife  and  daughter,  he  sank  from  the  observation  of 
those  who  had  once  known  him  as  completely  as  if 
dead  and  buried. 

It  was,  perhaps,  in  January,  some  tw^o  years  after* 

16 


182 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS, 


ward,  that  a thinly  clad  young  woman  presented 

herself  at  the  academy  for  young  ladies,  in  

street,  kept  by  Constance  and  Margaretta. 

“ Are  you  in  want  of  a teacher,  ma’am  ?”  she  said 
to  Constance,  who  went  down  into  the  parlour  on 
her  being  announced. 

There  was  something  strangely  familiar  in  the 
face  and  tones  of  the  speaker.  But  still,  she  did 
not  know  her. 

“ No,  Miss,  we  are  not  just  now.  What  branch 
are  you  capable  of  teaching?” 

“ I can  teach  music,  ma’am,  and  I understand 
French,  and  can  speak  it  fluently.” 

“Let  me  hear  you  play,”  said  Constance.  And 
the  stranger  sat  down  to  the  piano,  and  performed 
with  exquisite  taste  several  pieces. 

“Do  you  sing?”  she  asked. 

“ I have  not  practised  much  recently,  Dot  I used 
to  be  thought  a good  singer.” 

“ May  I ask  you  to  sing  something?  Perhaps 
we  may  make  a vacancy  for  you,  if  you  can  smg 
well,”  said  Constance,  her  interest  in  the  stranger 
increasing  momently,  and  the  familiarity  of  her 
face  and  tones  surprising  her  more  and  more  every 
moment. 

The  young  woman  again  sat  down  to  the  instru- 
ment, and  sang  with  much  taste  and  evident  emotion 
an  old,  familiar  air,  that  sent  the  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings of  Constance  back  to  other  times  and  other 
scenes. 

“And  now,”  she  said,  with  something  of  eager 
interest,  “ may  I ask  your  name  ?” 

“ Florence  A replied  the  young  woman. 


ONE  6F  THE  SOLVENT  CLAS8. 


183 


dropping  her  eyes  to  the  floor,  while  the  colour 
mounted  to  her  cheeks. 

“ Is  it  possible  ! Oh,  how  you  have  changed, 
Florence !”  Constance  said,  tenderly,  taking  her 
hand. 

“ Suffering  and  poverty  will  change  any  one,'1 
she  replied,  bitterly.  Then,  after  a moment’s  silence, 
she  continued : “ My  father  and  mother  are  both 
sick,  and  in  circumstances  of  great  destitution.  I 
have  tried  my  best  with  my  needle ; but  it  won’t 
do.  I can’t  get  bread  for  us  all.  As  a last  resort 
I have  come  to  you,  hoping  that  I might  touch  your 
heart  with  our  distresses.  I know  I can  be  useful 
in  your  school,  if  you  only  have  a place  for  me. 
This  is  all  I ask.  Have  I any  thing  to  hope, 
Constance  ?” 

And  the  poor  creature  stood  before  her,  with  the 
tears  streaming  down  her  thin,  pale  cheeks,  eager, 
yet  seeming  to  hope  almost  against  hope. 

“Yes,  every  thing!”  was  the  quick  response  of 
Constance. 

“May  heaven  reward  you!”  she  ejaculated,  sink- 
ing upon  a chair. 

“ I know  your  facility  and  correctness  in  the 
French,  and  you  are  just  the  one  I want  to  give  the 
correct  pronunciation  to  my  class  in  that  language. 
1 will  engage  you  at  once  at  a salary  of  five  hundred 
dollars,  and  be  glad  to  get  you.” 

Florence  was  overcome  at  this  unlooked-for  result, 
so  different  fiom  what  she  had  dared  to  hope.  Mr. 
Eldridge,  coming  in  at  the  moment,,  and  learning 
who  she  was,  instantly  ordered  eT7ery  thing  necessary 
to  be  sent  to  her  father  and  mother. 


184 


ONE  OF  THE  SOLVENT  CLASS. 


Florence  was  at  once  installed  into  her  new  voca- 
tion, not,  however,  until  Constance  and  Margaretta 
had  made  a change  in  her  outward  appearance  ; And 
she  filled  it  in  every  way  to  their  satisfaction. 
Sorrows  and  reverses  had  done  much  for  her,  in 
developing  the  good  and  true,  that  had  wellnigh 
been  lost. 

A few  months  after  this  event,  Mr.  A , who 

had  prided  himself  upon  being  of  the  “ solvent  class’* 
some  few  years  before,  was  glad  to  accept  an 
annual  salary  of  three  hundred  dollars  from  Mr. 
Eldridge,  for  merely  staying  in  his  store,  and  doing 
a little  writing  now  and  then.  Even  this  was  very 
acceptable,  and  with  the  salary  of  Florence  helped 
to  support  his  family  comfortably. 

And  nowT,  we  will  only  say — Let  no  man  boast 
of  his  being  of  the  “ solvent  class,”  and  vainly  sup- 
pose that  fire  nor  flood  can  reach  him.  Riches 
often  take  to  themselves  wings  and  fly  away.  The 
wealthy  man  of  to-day  is  often  the  pauper  of  to- 
morrow. This  is  the  history  of  every  year,  and  of 
all  ages.  Therefore,  let  none  be  unmerciful  to  the 
unfortunate,  for  who  can  say  that  his  turn  may  not 
come  next? 


THE  COQUETTE. 


Ada  G'LiSNN  had  been  a sad  trifler  in  her  time, 
Her  chief  pleasure  seemed  to  lie  in  extor:ing  admi- 
ration from  the  other  sex,  and  then  sporting  with 
the  feeling  she  had  awakened.  In  at  least  half  a 
dozen  instances  young  men  had  been  encouraged  to 
pay  her  attention  for  months  at  a time,  and  when, 
confident  of  having  won  her  regard,  they  came  for- 
ward with  serious  offers  of  marriage,  she  threw  them 
from  her  with  an  indifference  that  was  both  morti- 
fying and  painful. 

But,  like  most  of  those  who  play  this  game  with 
the  feelings  of  others,  Ada  was  made  to  taste  a cup 
as  bitter  as  any  mixed  by  her  hands  for  the  lips  of 
her  victims. 

A young  physician  named  Bedford,  whose  pros- 
pects in  life  were  much  better  than  are  usually  pre- 
sented to  the  eyes  of  graduates  in  his  profession, 
met  Ada  one  evening,  and  was  exceedingly  pleased 
with  her — and  no  less  pleased  was  Ada  with  the 
young  physician.  A wish  to  make  a good  impies- 
Bion,  added  to  her  usual  habit  of  putting  on  her  best 
grace  when  in  company  with  young  men,  made  Ada 
more  than  usually  interesting,  and  when  Dr.  Bed- 
ford separated  from  the  bewitching  young  girl,  ho 
was  completely  enamoured.  He  took  an  early 
opportunity  to  call  upon  her,  and  was  received 

16*  185 


186 


THE  COQUETTE. 


in  a manner  that  encouraged  him  to  repeat  hia 
visits. 

Never  were  visits  more  agreeable  to  any  one  than 
were  those  of  Dr.  Bedford  to  Ada  Glenn.  But  tho 
lOld  spirit  had  not  died  out,  and  really  flattered  as 
she  was  by  the  young  man’s  attentions,  Ada  was 
tempted  to  give  him  a specimen  of  her  power  and 
independence. 

No  very  long  time  elapsed  ere  Dr.  Bedford  laid 
his  heart  at  Ada’s  feet.  With  a thrill  of  pleasure 
could  she  have  accepted  the  proffered  gift  of  love ; 
but  to  yield  at  once  seemed  like  becoming  too  easy 
a prize,  and  she  therefore  affected  profound  asto- 
nishment at  the  doctor’s  proposal ; treated  it  rather 
lightly,  and  deeply  wounded  his  naturally  sensitive 
and  independent  feelings  by  too  marked  an  exhibi- 
tion of  disdain. 

Doctor  Bedford  retired  with  his  mind  in  a fever 
df  excitement.  His  admiration  of,  and  love  for 
Ada,  had  been  of  the  warmest  character.  Judging 
from  her  manner,,  he  had  felt  warranted  in  believ- 
ing that  the  regard  he  felt  for  her  was  fully  recipro- 
cated ; and  when  he  approached  her  with  a confes- 
sion of  what  was  in  his  heart,  he  was  prepared  for 
any  reception  but  the  one  he  received.  To  be 
repulsed  then,  coldly,  proudly,  and  almost  con- 
temptuously, was  to  receive  a blow  of  the  severest 
kind,  and  one,  the  pain  of  which  he  was  not  likely 
soon  to  forget. 

From  the  dwelling  of  Ada,  Dr.  Bedford  retired 
to  his  office  with  Ais  mind  greatly  excited.  There 
he  found  a young  friend  with  whom  he  was  intimate, 
and  to  whom,  ay  he  could  not  hide  iiiv  feelings,  he 


THE  COQUETTE 


187 


communicated  in  confidence  the  result  of  his  in- 
terview with  Ada.  To  his  surprise,  the  friend 
said — 

66 1 can  hardly  pity  you,  doctor.  I saw  you  were 
pleased  with  that  gay  flirt,  who  is  fascinating  enough ; 
but  I did  not  dream  that  you  were  serious  in  your 
attentions  to  one  known  everywhere  as  a most 
heartless  coquette.” 

Dr.  Bedford  looked  surprised.  “ Are  you  in 
earnest  ?”  said  he. 

“ In  earnest  ? Certainly  ! Didn’t  you  know 
that  this  was  her  character  ?” 

“I  had  not  the  most  remote  suspicion.” 

“ Strange  that  it  shouldn’t  have  come  to  your 
ears  ! I can  point  you  to  three  that  she  has  jilted 
within  my  own  knowledge.” 

“ If  that  is  her  character,”  said  the  doctor,  rally- 
ing himself  with  a strong  effort  of  self-control,  and 
speaking  in  a composed  and  resolute  voice,  “I  will 
at  once  obliterate  her  image  from  my  mind.  It  is 
unworthy  to  rest  there.  I did  not  love  Ada,  but  a 
fair  ideal  of  womanly  virtue  that  I vainly  believed 
she  embodied.” 

“ You  are  right.  She  is  not  worthy  of  you,  my 
friend,  beautiful,  intelligent,  and  interesting  as 
she  is. 

“No.  She  is  utterly  unworthy.  Fortunate  am 
I that  she  did  not  accept  my  offer.” 

It  required,  on  the  part  of  Ada,  a strong  effort 
to  assume  toward  Dr.  Bedford  a false  exterior,  and 
when  he  withdrew  from  her  presence,  composed  and 
dignified  in  his  manner,  she  more  than  half  regret- 
ted her  folly.  But  she  forced  back  this  feeling  with 


188 


THE  COQUETTE. 


a gay  smile  and  a toss  of  £he  head,  saying,  half 
aloud — 

“ He’ii  be  here  again  before  a week  goes  by.” 

But  Ada  was  slightly  in  error.  The  week  passed 
without  bringing  her  lover.  And  so  went  by  two, 
three,  and  four  weeks.  But,  vain  of  her  power  over 
the  other  sex,  Ada  still  endeavoured  to  maintain  a 
confident  spirit,  though  there  were  times  that  the 
sudden  thought  that  Dr.  Bedford  would  never  again 
seek  to  win  her  favour,  made  the  blood  gather  with 
a chill  around  her  heart. 

About  this  time  a friend  gave  a little  fancy-dress 
party,  and  Ada  learned,  much  to  her  real  delight, 
that  the  individual,  who  of  all  others  had  most 
struck  her  fancy,  wras  to  be  present.  This  was  to 
afford  the  first  opportunity  for  meeting,  since  her 
half  haughty  repulse,  the  man  who  had  offered  her, 
in  all  sincerity,  a true  and  loving  heart. 

An  overweening  vanity  made  Ada  confident  of 
her  power  with  the  sterner  sex ; and  she  believed 
that  only  a slight  yielding  effort  on  her  part  was 
necessary  to  bring  the  doctor  again  to  her  side. 

Choosing  her  costume  for  the  evening,  Ada 
arrayed  herself  with  great  care,  and  in  a style  that 
she  believed  would  attract  attention.  The  fashion 
of  her  dress  was  that  of  a hundred  years  ago,  and 
the  material  a rich  old  brocade,  in  which  her  grand- 
mother had  danced  the  minuet  many  a time  in  her 
younger  days. 

Calm  in  her  conscious  power,  Ada  joined  the  gay 
company  at  her  friend’s,  and  her  quick  eyes  soon 
made  known  the  fact  that  Dr.  Bedford  was  already 
present.  Her  heart  beat  quicker,  and  the  colour 


THE  COQUETTE. 


181 


bid  hrr  cheeks  grew  deeper ; but  no  one  could  read 
in  her  well-schooled  face  a trace  of  what  was  pass- 
ing in  her  mind.  No  long  time  passed  before  the 
young  doctoi  was  thrown  near  her,  so  near  that  a 
sign  of  recognition  became  qecessary.  He  spoke 
to  her,  but  in  a manner  that  sent  a nervous  chill  to 
her  heart.  Not  that  he  was  studiedly  polite  or  cold  ; 
not  that  he  manifested  resentment ; but  in  his  eye, 
voice,  face,  and  manner,  was  a language  she  could 
read,  and  it  told  her  that  to  him  she  was  no  longer 
an  object  of  interest. 

For  this  she  was,  of  all  things,  least  prepared. 
She  had  never  felt  toward  any  one  as  she  felt 
toward  this  young  man  ; and  now,  when  the  first 
well-grounded  fear  of  losing  him  stole  through  her 
bosom,  she  became  inwardly  agitated,  and  in  spite 
of  every  effort  to  control  herself,  manifested  too 
plainly  the  fact  that  she  was  ill  at  ease. 

Fancy  parties  were  novelties  at  the  time,  and  all 
except  Ada,  who  usually  led  off  on  festive  occasions, 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  hour.  Even  Dr.  Bed- 
ford appeared  to  enjoy  himself  as  much  as  any 
But  the  beautiful  coquette,  whose  peculiar  style  of 
costume  attracted  all  eyes,  had,  for  once,  lost  the 
gay  exterior  for  which  she  was  ever  distinguished, 
and  there  were  but  few  present  by  whom  this  was 
not  remarked. 

Once  or  twice  Ada  was  thrown  directly  into  the 
company  of  Dr.  Bedford,  when  he  treated  her  with 
an  ease  and  politeness  that,  more  than  any  thing 
else,  tended  to  extinguish  the  hope  that  had  arisen 
into  a flame  in  her  heart.  Had  he  manifested  any 
emotion ; had  he  looked  grave,  troubled,  indignant, 


190 


THE  COQUETTE. 


proud,  haughty,  or  any  thing  else  but  calmly  indif- 
ferent and  self-possessed,  Ada  would  have  felt  sure 
of  her  power  over  him.  But  a perception  of  the 
real  truth  was  as  distinct  to  her  as  if  the  most 
emphatic  words,  sealing  her  fate,  had  been  uttered 
in  her  ears. 

Earlier  than  the  rest  Ada  retired,  unable  longer 
to  control  herself  as  she  could  wish,  and  unwilling 
to  expose,  to  eyes  already  too  observant,  the  change 
that  had  come  over  her  feelings. 

From  that  hour,  Ada  Glenn  ceased  to  be  the  gay, 
buoyant,  attractive  girl  who  had  extorted  admira- 
tion from  so  many,  and  trifled,  in  her  vain  pride 
and  thoughtlessness,  with  all.  She  rarely  went  into 
‘company,  and  then  her  sober  mien  left  her  usually 
in  the  background.  The  lively  belle,  in  a few 
months,  ceased  to  attract  attention  ; and  young  men 
who  had  been  captives  at  her  feet,  wondered  why 
she  had  exercised  such  power  over  them. 

As  for  Bedford,  he  erred  in  believing  that,  with 
a single  dash  of  the  will,  he  had  effaced  for  ever  the 
image  of  Ada  from  his  mind.  Wounded  pride  and 
honest  indignation  had  raised  him,  in  a moment, 
superior  to  the  weakness  of  his  nature.  But  a long 
period  did  not  elapse  before  line  after  line  began  to 
reappear,  and  before  he  was  really  aware  of  what 
W'as  going  on  within,  he  found  himself  gazing  upon 
the  image  of  the  maiden  distinct  as  ever  upon  his 
heart. 

This  discovery,  wThen  first  made,  w^as  far  from 
being  pleasant  to  the  young  man  ; and  he  turned 
from  the  fair  image  with  impatient  scorn.  But  turn 
which  way  he  wTould,  it  was  still  before  him.  Occa- 


THE  C'O'QUETTfi. 


19S 


Bion&lly,  lie  heard  of  Ada  as  greatly  changed,  an£ 
sometimes  he  wm  thrown  into  company  with  her, 
when  the  change  v,  as  apparent  to  his  own  eyes. 
These  meetings,  whenever  they  took  place,  left  hina 
in  a musing,  sober  state.  There  was  something 
about  Ada  that  still  interested  him ; and  when,  as 
fit  occasionally  happened,  he  looked  suddenly  toward 
tier,  and  met  her  eyes  fixed  intently  upon  him  with 
sad,  earnest,  tender  look,  he  had  feelings  that  he 
was  hardly  able  to  understand. 

Thus  affairs  progressed  until,  unexpectedly,  the 
young  couple  found  themselves  brought  together  in 
a pic-nie.  Dr.  Bedford  was  less  displeased  at  this 
circumstance  than  he  would  have  been  a few  months 
earlier;  but  he  was  careful  not  to  throw  himself 
purposely  in  Ada’s  way,  for  his  self-possession  and 
cool  indifference,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned,  no 
longer  existed.  The  thought  of  her,  even,  had 
now  power  to  disturb  the  pulsations  of  his  heart. 

The  pleasant  day  had  drawn  nearly  to  a close.  Two 
or  three  times  Bedford  had  been  brought  into  such 
close  contact  with  Ada,  that  he  could  not,  without 
appearing  rude,  have  avoided  speaking  a few  words 
io  her.  On  these  occasions  he  said  little;  but  it 
was  impossible  to  help  observing,  in  the  manner  of 
her  replies,  in  the  tones,  and  in  the  expression  of 
her  countenance,  something  that  told  him,  as 
plainly  as  language  could  have  uttered  it,  that  she 
deeply  repented  of  her  former  conduct  toward 
him. 

“It  is  too  late,”  said  the  young  man  to  himself, 
with  some  bitterness  of  feeling,  as  he  reflected  upon 
what  it  wras  impossible  not  to  perceive  And  even 


192 


THE  COQUETTE. 


as  he  said  this,  there  arose  extenuating  arguments 
in  his  mind  that  he  in  vain  strove  to  expel. 

Disturbed  by  such  thoughts  and  feelings,  Dr. 
Bedford  wandered  away  from  the  gay  party,  and 
remained  alone  for  nearly  an  hour.  As  he  returned, 
he  came  suddenly  upon  Ada,  seated  in  a pensive 
attitude,  just  above  a little  dashing  waterfall,  down 
into  which  she  was  looking.  She  was  so  entirely 
lost  in  the  scene,  or,  more  probably,  in  thoughts 
which  it  was  impossible  to  drive  out  of  her  mind, 
that  she  did  not  observe  the  young  man’s  approach. 
Bedford  paused  suddenly,  and  his  first  impulse  wa3 
to  retreat.  But,  not  being  able  to  get  his  consent 
to  do  this,  he  after  a little  hesitation  advanced,  and 
when  within  a few  paces  roused  her  from  her  reverie 
by  a few  lightly  uttered  words.  Ada  turned  with  a 
start,  while  a deep  crimson  mantled  her  face.  It 
was  some  time  before  she  could  command  herself 
sufficiently  to  reply  with  any  thing  like  composure, 
and  even  then  her  voice  slightly  trembled. 

Few  words  passed  between  them  as,  side  by  side, 
they  slowly  returned  to  where  they  had  left  their 
companions,  for  both  were  afraid  to  trust  themselves 
to  speak.  But  that  meeting  had  decided  the  fate 
of  both.  Before  a week  elapsed,  Dr.  Bedford, 
breaking  through  pride  and  every  other  restraining 
sentiment,  visited  Ada,  and,  before  leaving  her, 
renewed  his  offer  of  marriage,  which  was  accepted 
amid  a gush  of  joyful  tears.  Deeply  had  Ada  suf- 
fered through  her  folly,  and  from  her  suffering  she 
had  come  forth  a purer,  truer,  and  better  woman. 

There  are  a few  like  Ada.  But  rarely  does  the 
vain  coquette  escape  with  so  brief  a period  of  suf- 


MR.  WINKLEMAN  AT  HOME. 


193 


fering.  Usually,  with  her,  it  is  a life-long  season 
of  sorrow  and  repentance.  After  rejecting,  with 
heartless  levity,  her  worthy  suitors,  she  yields  her 
hand  at  last  to  the  most  unworthy ; and,  unblessed 
by  true  affection,  goes  wearily  on  her  way  through 
the  world,  glad  when  the  hour  comes  in  which  she 
may  lay  down  her  burdens,  and  find  rest  and  peace 
in  the  quiet  grave. 


MR.  WINKLEMAN  AT  HOME. 


Hr.  Winkleman,  after  eating  his  breakfast  in 
silence,  arose  without  a remark  to  any  one,  and  left 
the  room  in  which  his  family  were  assembled  at  the 
morning  meal.  Taking  up  his  hat,  he  passed  from 
the  house.  As  he  came  into  the  open  air  and  made 
two  or  three  deep  inspirations,  in  the  unconscious 
effort  to  relieve  his  bosom  from  a sense  of  oppres- 
sion, he  became  very  distinctly  aware  that  a heavy 
weight  rested  upon  his  feelings. 

u What’s  the  matter  with  me?  Why  should  I 
feel  troubled?” 

Thus  Mr.  Winkleman  inquired  of  himself.  A.nd 
as  he  walked  along,  in  the  direction  of  the  store, 
with  his  eyes  cast  down,  he  searched  about  in 
thought  for  the  cause  of  his  unpleasant  state  of 
feelings. 

“ There’s  nothing  in  my  business  to  trouble  me.” 
So  he  talked  with  himself.  “ Every  thing  is  going 


194 


MR.  WINKLEMAN  AT  HOME. 


on  prosperously.  No  heavy  payments  for  a month 
to  come.  What  does  it  mean?” 

Search  in  this  direction  not  revealing  the  cause 
of  uneasiness,  Mr.  Winkleman’s  thoughts^ went  back 
to  the  home  he  had  left  so  unceremoniously — with 
such  an  apparent  indifference  toward  his  wife  and 
children.  This  was  evidently  coming  nearer  the 
source  of  trouble,  for  the  ^weight  on  his  feelings 
grew  more  oppressive.  And  now  he  was  conscious 
of  having  been  in  a very  uncomfortable,  unsocial 
state,  during  all  breakfast  time.  Why  was  this  ? 
Ah ! It  was  all  clear  now — a sigh  attested  the 
discovery. 

Mr.  Winkleman,  though  a w^ell-meaning  man,  and 
kind  in  the,  main  to  his  family,  was  sensitive  to  little 
incongruities  and  annoyances,  and  not  oyer  patient 
when  they  occurred.  He  was  apt  to  speak  sharply 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment — always  to  the  disturb- 
ance of  his  own  peace  after  the  excitement  of  the 
occasion  was  over. 

On  this  particular  morning,  his  daughter  Fanny, 
a bright,  playful,  rather  thoughtless  girl,  in  her 
thirteenth  year,  committed  some  act  of  rudeness, 
for  which  he  reproved  her  in  so  harsh  a manner, 
that  the  child  burst  into  tears. 

The  instant  Mr.  Winkleman  spoke,  he  felt  that 
he  had  done  wrong.  Experienc^  as  wTell  as  reason, 
had  long  ago  made  clear  to  his  mind  the  folly  of 
harsh  or  fretful  reproof.  The  clear  conviction,  in 
a parent’s  mind,  that  he  has  wronged  his  child,  is 
always  attended  with  pain.  This  conviction  was 
felt  by  Mr.  Winkleman,  and  pain  followed.  Fanny 
glided,  weeping,  from  the  room,  and  the  erring 


MR.  WINKLEMAN  AT  HOME. 


195 


father  silently— almost  moodily — went  on  to  com- 
plete  his  toilet.  While  thus  engaged,  some  article 
of  dress  was  found  not  to  be  in  suitable  order. 
Already  disturbed  in  mind,  this  newly  exciting 
cause  prompted  the  utterance  of  an  impatient  ejacu- 
lation, with  an  added  word  of  censure  toward  his 
wife  for  neglect. 

Mrs.  Winkleman  felt  his  unkind  manner  and 
expression — what  true  wife  does  not  feel  rebuke  or 
censure  keenly  ? — and  though  prompt  to  repair  the 
neglect,  showed  that  she  was  hurt. 

Here  lay  the  whole  secret.  Mr.  Winkleman  had 
permitted  himself  to  feel  and  to  speak  unkindly, 
first  to  his  child,  and  then  to  his  wife.  Such  a state 
of  feeling,  in  a man  like  Mr.  Winkleman,  could  not 
exist  without  of  itself  producing  an  unhappy  frame 
of  mind ; but  when  to  this  was  added  the  remem- 
brance of  harsh  and  hasty  speech  toward  his  wife 
and  one  of  his  children,  with  a perception  of  their 
mental  pain,  cause  enough  for  all  his  uncomfortable 
sensations  were  apparent. 

“I  wish  I had  more  control  of  myself,”  said  Mr. 
Winkleman,  with  a sigh. 

He  felt  worse,  now  that  all  was  clear  to  his  mind, 
for  self-condemnation  was  added. 

“I  must  control  myself  better.”  Good  purposes 
were  forming,  an4  these  always  have  a tranquillizing 
effect.  u Harsh  words  and  an  unkind  manner  do 
little,  if  any  good.  If  things  go  wrong,  these  act 
feebly  as  correctives.  I must,  and  will  control  my- 
self better.” 

By  the  time  Mr.  Winkleman  arrived  at  his  store 
he  was  able  to  dismiss  these  thoughts,  and  to  enter 


196 


MR.  WINKLEMAN  A1  HOME. 


with  his  usual  earnestness  upon  the  business  of  the 
day. 

On  turning  his  steps  homeward,  at  dinner  time, 
thought  preceded,  and  something  of  the  oppression 
from  which  he  had  suffered  in  the  morning  now 
rested  on  his  feelings.  He  remembered  how  it  was 
when  he  left,  and  imagination  could  realize  no 
change  in  the  aspect  of  things.  He  saw  the  glist- 
ening eyes  and  grieving  face  of  his  child,  and  the 
sober,  almost  sad  countenance  of  his  wife.  To  meet 
these,  and  yet  assume  a cheerful  manner,  was  for 
him  no  light  achievement.  But  it  must,  if  possible, 
be  done.  How  relieved  he  was,  when  Fanny,  his 
light-hearted  little  girl,  met  him  witih  a sunny  face, 
and  claimed  her  usual  kiss.  Mrs.  Winkleman  smiled 
too,  as  pleasantly  as  if  there  had  been  no  morning 
cloud.  Yet,  even  from  this  he  suffered  rebuke. 
There  was  a generous  denial  of  self,  and  a loving 
forgiveness  on  their  part,  that  humbled  and  sobered 
him.  Ah  ! if  he  could  only  forget  the  past,  so  that 
he  might  enter  into  the  joy  of  the  present.  But 
that  was  impossible.  Whatever  is  written  on  the 
memory  in  pain,  leaves  too  vivid  a record. 

Yet,  there  was  one  thing  he  could  do,  and  that 
was  to  speak  and  act  affectionately  and  kindly. 
How'potent  was  the  charm  that  lay  in  his  words 
and  manner  ! What  a new  sphere  of  life  seemed 
to  pervade  the  little  home  circle.  The  morning 
cloud  had  passed,  and  the  risen  sun  exhaled  the 
early  dew. 

But  ere  the  dinner  hour  was  over,  a touch  dis- 
cordant jarred  the  pleasant  harmony.  Fanny  hap- 


MR.  WINKLEMAN  AT  HOME. 


197 


pened  to  overturn  a glass  of  water,  at  which  Mr. 
Winkleman  said  impatiently,  and  with  a frown — 

“ What  a careless  girl  you  are  !” 

The  blood  mounted  to  Fanny’s  cheeks  and  brow, 
and  tears  came  into  her  eyes.  ^ 

Scarcely  were  the  words  uttered  by  Mr.  Winkle- 
man,  ere  he  was  sobered  by  regret. 

“ Try  and  be  more  careful,  Fanny,”  said  he,  in  a 
kinder  voice. 

“ I didn’t  mean  to  do  it,  father.” 

Fanny’s  lip  quivered.  She  tried  to  regain  her 
self-possession ; but  the  very  kindness  in  her  father’s 
voice  helped,  now,  to  break  down  her  feelings,  and 
she  sobbed  aloud.  Mr.  Winkleman  didn’t  like  this. 
His  sudden  irritation  had  clouded  his  perceptions, 
and  he  did  not,  therefore,  see  into  the  mind  of  his 
child,  and  comprehend  her  state.  He  attributed 
rather  to  anger,  or  perverseness,  than  of  wounded 
feelings  that  would  express  their  pain,  the  tears  of 
his  child. 

“ I don’t  sec  any  use  in  your  crying  about  it,” 
said  Mr.  Winkleman,  a little  sternly. 

Fanny’s  sobs  increased.  Finding  it  impossible 
to  control  herself,  she  left  the  table,  and  retired 
from  the  room. 

Mrs.  Winkleman’s  eyes  followed,  with  a sad  look, 
her  child ; and  over  her  whole  countenance  gathered 
a sober  hue,  as  she  vanished  through  the  door.  Mr. 
Winkleman  saw  the  change  his  impatient  temper 
had  wrought,  and  his  feelings  took  even  a darker 
shade ; for  self-reproaches,  stinging  sharply,  were 
added  to  mortification. 

Alas  ! How  all  was  marred  again — marred  through 


198 


MR.  WINKLEMAN  AT  HOME. 


Mr.  Winkleman’s  unfortunate  lack  of  self-control. 
His  heart  was  heavier  when  he  left  his  dwelling  and 
took  his  way  to  his  store*  than  in  the  morning.  He 
- did  not  now  have  to  search  about  in  his  mind  for 
the  causes  that  produced  the  weight  upon  his  feel- 
ings. Alas  ! they  were  too  apparent. 

“I  must  do  better  than  this.  It  is  unmanly — 
nay  worse,  unjust — even  worse  than  that — cruel,” 
he  said  to  himself*  as  he  sat  down  in  his  private 
office,  and  mused  alone.  Half  of  the  afternoon  was 
spent  in  self-reproaches,  repentance,  and  the  forma- 
tion of  good  resolutions.  He  reviewed  the  past 
through  many  years,  and  saw  how,  times  almost 
without  number,  he  had,  through  impatience  and 
want  of  a thoughtful  regard  for  his  wife  and  children, 
destroyed  their  happiness  and  his  own. 

“ I once  heard  a lady  say,  not  knowing  that  the 
words  would  reach  my  ears,  that  Mr.  Winkleman 
was  a good  husband  and  father.  I*  was  flattered 
exceedingly,  and  prided  myself  on  the  truth  of  her 
remark.  But  was  the  remark  really  true  ? Alas  ! 
I fear  not.  The  captious,  impatient,  sharp-speak- 
ing husband  and  father,  merits  not  such  a com- 
mendation.” 

Humbled  in  his  own  eyes,  and  grieving  for  the 
pain  he  had  occasioned  in  his  family,  Mr.  Winkle- 
man  returned  home  at  the  close  of  the  day  with  a 
heavy  heart.  He  wished  to  bring  sunshine  intp  his 
dwelling  ; but,  unable  te  rally  himself  and  put  on  a 
cheerful  countenance,  he  felt  that  his  presence  would 
be  far  mere  likely  to  darken  than  brighten  the 
spirits  of  his  wife  and  children. 

As  Mr.  Winkleman  placed  his  hand  upon  the  door 


MR.  WINKLEMAN  AT  HOME. 


199 


to  open  it,  he  experienced  no  sense  of  pleasure. 
Fanny’s  tearful  eyes  were  before  him,  and  her  sobs 
yet  rung  in  his  ears.  With  almost  noiseless  step  he 
entered,  and  was  going  quietly  up  stairs,  when  he 
met  his  daughter  coming  down. 

“Well,  Fanny!”  He  forced  a smile,  and  com- 
pelled his  voice  to  assume  a gentle,  loving  tone. 

Instantly,  Fanny’s  arms  were  around  his  neck, 
and  her  warm  lips  on  his  cheek.  He  could  not  but 
return  the  kiss,  nor  help  laying  his  hand  upon  her 
head,  and  toying  affectionately  with  her  sunny  curls. 
When  he  entered  the  room  where  his  wife  was  sit- 
ting, Fanny  walked  by  his  side,  with  both  her  hands 
clasping  his  arm. 

If  a cloud  rested  on  the  spirit  of  his  wife  when 
he  entered,  he  saw  not  its  shadow  in  her  face. 
Light  from  his  own  countenance  was  reflected  back 
from  hers  in  sunny  brightness. 

“I  must  keep  this  sky  undimmed,”  said  Mr. 
Winkleman  to  himself.  “It  has  been  dark  to-day; 
but  mine  was  the  hand  that  shrouded  it  in  gloom.” 

Yet,  ere  half  an  hour  passed,  his  in>patient  spirit 
was  nigh  overshadowing  their  firmament.  Neither 
his  wife  nor  children  were  perfect — and  his  weak- 
ness was  looking  for  entire  harmony,  order,  and 
good  taste  in  all  their  words  and  deeds.  But  suffer- 
ing had  brought  true  perceptions  of  his  own  error, 
and  these  made  him  wiser.  He  controlled  himself., 
and  when  it  was  right  to  use  words  of  correction  to 
his  children,  they  were  spoken  with  mildness.  He 
could  but  wonder  at  their  hidden  power. 

What  a pleasant  evening  was  that  which  closed 
on  so  dark  a day. 


200 


MR.  WINKLEMAN  AT  HOME. 


Morning  found  Mr.  Winkleman  in  danger  of 
relapsing  into  his  old  state.  But  the  memory  of 
former  pain  was  potent  to  help  his  quick  returning 
good  resolutions.  Fanny  jarred  his  feelings  with 
some  annoying  act  of  carelessness  or  disorder,  and 
the  sharp  reproof  was  on  his  tongue.  But  he  re- 
strained its  utterance.  When  entire  self-control 
was  his,  he  gently  pointed  out  to  her  wherein  she 
was  wrong.  With  a prompt  apology  and  a promise 
to  do  better,  Fanny  corrected  her  error. 

At  the  breakfast  table,  Mr.  Winkleman  did  not 
suffer  himself  to  be  thrown  off  of  his  guard.  He  had 
not  enjoyed  a meal  so  well  for  weeks,  and  could  not 
help  remarking  how  light  and  cheerful  he  felt,  as, 
on  rising  from  the  table,  and  saying  good  morning, 
almost  gayly,  he  left  the  house,  and  went  out  into 
the  street  with  a light  air  murmuring  on  his  lips. 

“ Good  humour.”  What  a power  it  possesses! 
and  what  a power  there  is  in  gentle  words  ! Mr. 
Winkleman  proved  this,  not  only  on  the  present, 
but  on  many  after  occasions  ; and  so  may  we  all 
prove  it. 

Reader,  do  you  often,  like  Mr.  Winkleman,  go 
out  from  your  home  with  a weight  on  your  feel- 
ings ? Look  again  into  the  mirror  we  hold  up,  and 
see  if  you  cannot  discover  the  cause.  The  fault,  as 
was  the  case  with  Mr.  Winkleman,  may  be  all  in 
yourself. 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON, 


PART  FIRST. — THE  MAN. 

The  air  is  soft,  and  laden  with  fragrance  from 
the  newly-mown  fields ; amid  the  leafy  branches 
of  old  trees  are  nestling  the  weary  birds ; the  val- 
leys lie  in  deepening  shadows,  though  golden  sun- 
light lingers  yet  upon  the  hilltops.  It  is  the 
closing  hour  of  a lovely  day  in  June. 

Hark ! a manly  voice  has  broken  the  pervading 
stillness. 

“ Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam, 

Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there  is  no  place  like  home.” 

How  the  fine  tones  swell  upward ! How  in  every 
modulation  is  perceived  some  varied  expression  of 
the  sentiment  conveyed  in  the  words ! The  man  is 
singing  from  heart-fulness.  Home  is  to'  him  the 
dearest  spot  on  earth — the  loveliest  place  in  all  the 
wide,  wide  world,  humble  though  it  be  ! Listen  ! — 

“ An  exile  from  home,  pleasures  dazzle  in  vain, 

Oh,  give  me  my  lowly  thatch’d  cottage  again. ” 

There  he  comes,  just  emerging  from  that  little 
grove  of  cedars,  where  the  road  winds  by  the  plea- 
sant brookside.  How  erect  his  form  ! How  elastic 
his  step  ! What  a light  is  thrown  back  from  his 
bare  and  ample  forehead ! 


201 


202 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON. 


Yonder,  where  the  valley  seems  to  close,  but,  m 
reality,  only  bends  around  a mountain  spur,  to  open 
in  now  and  varied  beauty,  stands  a neat  cottage, 
its  doors  and  windows  vine- wreathed  and  flower- 
gemmed.  Above  this  home  of  love  and  peace  are 
spread  the  leafy  branches  of  a century-old  elm.  In 
summer,  this  guardian  tree  receives  into  its  ample 
bosom  the  fierce-  sun-rays,  and  tempers  them  with 
coolness.  In  winter,  though  shorn  of  its  verdure, 
it  breaks  the  fury  of  the  strong  north-west,  so  that 
it  falls  not  too  rudely  upon  the  nestling  cottage 
beneath. 

In  this  sweet  and  sheltered  spot  are  the  house- 
hold treasures  of  Henry  Erskine.  He  has  gathered 
them  here,  because  his  love  seeks  for  them  all  ex- 
ternal blessings  his  hand  can  give.  Years  agone, 
this  cottage  was  the  home  of  his  gentle  wife.  Here 
he  had  wooed  her,  and  here  won  her  trusting  heart. 
Time  wore  on — death  and  misfortune  scattered  the 
old  household,  and  the  pleasant  homestead  passed 
into  the  hands  of  strangers.  On  the  day  it  was 
sold,  Erskine  coming  suddenly  upon  his  young 
wife,  found  her  in  tears.  He  pressed  to  know  the 
cause.  Half  was  revealed  and  half  but  guessed. 
Love  prompted  the  resolution  that  was  instantly 
formed.  Three  years  afterward,  Erskine,  through 
untiring  labour  and  self-denial,  had  saved  enough 
to  purchase  back  the  cottage,  into  which,  with  a 
new  and  higher  sense  of-  enjoyment,  he  gathered 
his  fruitful  vine,  and  the  olive-branches  already 
bending  above  and  around  him. 

The  best  husband,  the  kindest  father,  the  truest 
man  in  all  that  pleasant  valley,  was  Henry  Erskine. 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON. 


203 


He  had  been  absent  a few  days  on  business,  and 
now  returning  to  his  home-treasures,  it  was  from 
the  fulness  of  his  heart  that  he  sung — 

“ Home,  home — sweet,  sweet  home ! 

Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there’s  no  place  like  home.” 

And,  as  he  sung  on,  and  strode  forward,  quick, 
eagerly  listening  ears  caught  the  music  of  his  well- 
known  voice,  and  ere  he  had  reached,  by  many 
hundred  yards,  the  little  white  gate  that  opened 
from  the  road  to  his  dwelling,  tiny  arms  were 
tightly  glasping  his  neck,  and  soft  lips  pressing  his 
cheek  and  forehead. 

Oh  ! what  gushing  gladness  ’was  in  his  heart ! 
How  large  it  seemed  in  his  bosom ! How  full  of 
good  desires  and  bounteous  wishes  for  the  loved 
ones  who  made  his  home  a paradise ! 

“ Dear  Anna  l”  How  many  times  he  said  this, 
as  with  both  hands  laid  upon  the  fair  temples  of 
his  happy  wife,  he  smoothed  back  her  raven  hair, 
and  gazed  into  the  loving  depths  of  her  dark 
bright  eyes  ! 

The  sunniest  day  in  the  whole  calendar  of  their 
lives  was  this.  As  Erskine  sat  amid  his  children, 
with  their  gentle-hearted  mother  at  his  side,  he  felt 
that  the  cup  of  his  happiness  was  full  to  over- 
flowing. 

And  yet — ah  ! why  are  we  forced  to  write  it !- — 
ere  the  evening  of  that  glad  reunion  closed,  a faint 
shadow  had  fallen  on  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Erskine. 
She  had  been  aware  of  an  unusual  degree  of  elation 
on  the  part  of  her  husband  in  rejoining  them  after 
his  brief  absence,  but  thought  of  it  only  as  an  ex- 


204 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON. 


cess  of  gladness  at  getting  home  again.  Two  or 
three  neighbours  called  in  later  in  the  evening, 
when,  in  agreement  with  a very  bad  custom  then 
prevailing,  something  to  drink  was  brought  forth, 
and  before  the  neighbours  retired,  the  undue  eleva- 
tion of  spirits  noticed  by  the  wife  of  Mr.  Erskine, 
had  increased  to  a degree  that  left  her  in  no  doubt 
as  to  its  source. 

“ IIow  sober  you  look,  Anna  dear !”  said  Mr. 
Erskine,  with  his  usual  tenderness  of  manner,  on 
the  next  morning.  “ Are  you  well  ?” 

“ Oh  yes.  But  what  a strange  and  terrible 
Iream  I had  ! I can’t  shake  off  the  effects.  And 
yet  I know  it  was  only  a dream.” 

“ A dream  ! — Is  that  all?”  said  Erskine,  with  a 
smile.  “But  what  was  it,  dear?  It  must  have 
been  something  terrible,  indeed,  to  leave  a shadow 
upon  your  spirits.” 

“ A very  strange  dream,  Henry.  I thought  we 
were  sitting  at  the  table  just  as  we  were  sitting  last 
evening,  with  our  pleasant  neighbours  around  us. 
You  had  just  taken  a glass  from  your  lips,  after 
drinking  my  health,  as  you  did  then.  You  placed 
it  near  me,  so  that  I could  see  into  it  to  the  bot- 
tom, where  still  remained  a small  portion  of  liquor. 
Something  fixed  my  gaze,  and  presently  I saw’,  in 
miniature,  a perfect  image  of  your  face.  Surprised, 
I looked  up;  but  you  and  all  the  company  were 
gone  ! I was  alone,  in  a strange,  desolate,  meagrely 
furnished  room.  The  table  was  still  beside  me,  and 
on  it  yet  remained  the  glass,  toward  which  my  eyes 
turned  with  a fascination  I could  not  resist.  Into 
the  liquor  at  the  bottom  I gazed,  and  there,  more 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON. 


205 


distinct  than  at  first,  I saw  your  face ; but  now  the 
eyes  had  a sharp,  eager  look,  that  seemed  to  go 
through  me  with  a sense  of  pain.  The  tender 
arching  of  your  lip3  was  gone,  and  they  were  drawn 
against  the  teeth  with  a cruel  expression.  I feel 
the  shudder  still  which  then  ran  through  my  heart. 
0 Henry ! a look  such  as  I then  saw  on  your  face 
would  kill  me!” 

And  the  wife  of  Henry  Erskine,  overcome  with 
feeling,  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder  and 
sobbed. 

“Dear  Anna!  Forget  the  wretched  dream !” 
said  Erskine,  as  he  drew  his  arm  tightly  around 
her.  “I  wonder  that  a mere  phantom  of  the  night 
can  have  such  power  to  move  you.” 

“But  that  was  not  all,”  resumed  Mrs.  Erskine, 
as  soon  as  she  had  grown  calm  enough  to  speak. 
“ The  face  now  began  to  rise  up  from  the  top  of 
the  glass,  rounding  as  it  rose,  until  a head'  and 
well-defined  neck  stood  above  the  vessel ; and  all 
the  while  a malignant  change  was  progressing  on 
the  countenance.  More  horrible  still ! The  glass 
suddenly  enlarged  enormously  its  dimensions,  and 
in  it  I now  saw,  in  fearful  coils,  the  body  of  a ser- 
pent, bearing  up  higher  and  higher  the  face  and 
head  of  a man.  Another  instant,  and  horrid,  slimy 
folds  were  around  my  neck  and  body ! In  their 
tightening,  suffocating  clasp,  I awoke.  0 Henry! 
was  it  not  terrible  ? What  could  have  excited  such 
a phantasy  ?” 

“ A horrible  nightmare,”  said  Erskine ; “ a night- 
mare only.  And  yet,  how  strange  it  is  that  such  an 

18 


206 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON. 


image  found  entrance  into  your  innocent,  guarded 
mind !” 

It  was  all  in  vain  that  Mrs.  Erskine  strove, 
throughout  that  day,  to  drive  the  shadow  from  her 
heart.  The  dream  was  of  too  peculiar  and  startling 
a nature  to  admit  of  this.  Moreover,  its  singular 
connection  with  the  neighbourly  conviviality  of  the 
previous  evening,  when  she  was  forced  to  observe 
the  unusual  elation  of  her  husband’s  mind,  gave 
food  for  questionings  and  thoughts,  which  in  no 
way  served  to  obliterate  the  dream,  or  to  tran- 
quillize her  feelings.  When  her  husband  returned 
Dome  at  the  close  of  day,  he  saw  in  her  counte- 
nance, for  the  first  time,  something  that  annoyed 
and  repelled  him.  Why  was  this  ? What  was  the 
meaning  of  the  expression  ? Did  she  doubt  him  in 
any  thing  ? Ah  ! How  could  she  forget  her  dream 
— that  malignant  face  and  slimy  serpent — the  fatal 
cup  and  the  death  hidden  in  its  fascinating  con- 
tents ? 

It  was  later  in  the  evening.  The  flitting  sha- 
dows had  been  chased  away  by  the  sunny  faces 
that  gathered  around  the  tea-table.  Amid  their 
children,  all  sense  of  oppression,  of  doubt,  had  va  - 
nished. The  kneeling  little  ones  had  said,  in  low, 
reverent  tones,  “ Our  Father,”  and  were  sleeping 
in  sweet  unconsciousness.  The  evening  had  waned, 
and  now,  in  accordance  with  habit,  Mr.  Erskine 
brought  forth  a decanter,  and  was  about  filling  a 
glass  therefrom,  when  his  wife,  laying  her  hand  on 
his  arm,  said,  with  a sad  earnestness  of  manner, 
which  she  strove  to  conceal  with  a smile — 

“ Henry  dear,  forgive  me  for  saying  so,  but  the 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON, 


20? 


sight  of  that  decanter  and  glass  makes  me  shudder. 
I have  thought  all  day  about  my  dream — the  ser- 
pent in  the  glass.” 

“ Bearing  your  husband’s  face,”  said  Erskine, 
quickly,  and  with  rather  more  of  feeling'  than  he 
meant  to  express;  “ and  you  fear  that  he  will  prove 
the  serpent  in  the  end,  to  suffocate  you  in  his  horrid 
folds.” 

Henry  Erskine  ! what  could  have  tempted  you  to 
this  utterance  ? Ah  ! the  truth  must  be  told.  It 
was  the  serpent  in  the  glass  ! False  friends,  as  he 
came  homeward  that  evening,  had  drawn  him  aside 
to  drink  with  them.  Alas ! a malignant  demon 
was  in  the  cup,  and  its  poison  entered  his  bosom. 
He  did  not  drink  even  to  partial  physical  intoxica- 
tion ; but  far  enough  to  disturb  the  calm,  rational 
balance  of  his  mind,  and  thus  to  change  the  order 
of  mental  influx.  He  was  no  longer  the  equipoised 
man,  and,  therefore,  no  longer  in  orderly  associa- 
tion with  pure  angelic  spirits.  Just  in  the  degree 
that  he  was  separated  from  these,  came  he  into  as- 
sociation with  spirits  of  an  opposite  character — 
demons  in  their  eager  desire  to  extinguish  all  that 
is  pure  and  good  in  human  nature.  And  thus  it 
ever  is,  in  a greater  or  less  degree,  with  all  who 
disturb  the  rational  balance  of  their  minds,  either 
partially  or  mentally,  by  the  use  of  what  intoxi- 
cates. This  is  the  reason  why  the  way  of  the  ine- 
briate, even  from  the  beginning,  is  marked  by  such 
strange  infatuation.  He  seems  to  be  in  the  power 
of  evil  spirits  who  govern  him  at  will,  and  he  is,  in 
reality,  thus  in  their  power. 


208 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON. 


An  instant  pallor  overspread  the  face  of  Mrs. 
Erskine,  at  her  husband’s  cruel  retort.  What  an 
age  of  wretchedness  was  comprised  in  a single  mo- 
ment of  time  ! Erskine  saw  the  effect  of  his  words, 
and  repented  their  utterance.  He  even,  for  a mo- 
ment, partially  yielded  to  an  impulse  to  put  up  the 
liquor  untasted;  but  the  demon  tempter  was  too 
close  to  his  side,  and  too  prompt  to  whisper  that 
such  an  act  would  be  an  unmanly  (!)  concession  to 
his  wife’s  foolish  weakness.  And  so,  his  mind 
already  partially  unbalanced,  as  has  been  seen,  he 
completed  the  dethronement  of  manly  reason,  by 
pouring  out  and  drinking  a larger  draught  of  spirits 
than  he  was  accustomed  to  take, 

Alas  ! how  quickly  has  the  man  become  eclipsed 
—partially  now,  and  to.  shine  forth  again  in  the 
unclouded  heavens.  Yet,  to  be  eclipsed  again,  and 
again,  until  final  darkness  covers  all. 

Reader,  we  have  shown  you  the  man . When 
your  eyes  first  rested  upon  him,  at  a single  point 
of  the  orbit  in  which  he  moved,  was  not  the  forn* 
beautiful  to  look  upon,  and  the  ministry  of  .his 
affections  full  of  good  to  others?  We  have  another 
picture— not  that  of  a man , but  of  a demon.  Will 
you  look  upon  it  ? Ah ! if  you  turn  your  eyes 
away,  we  will  not  question  the  act.  It  is  a picture 
upon  which  some  need  to  look,  and,  therefore,  it  is 
sketched,  though  writh  a hurried  and  reluctant  hand- 
Here  it  is. 


THE  MAN  A ND  THE  DEMON. 


209 


PART  SECOND. — THE  DEMON. 

u Some  brandy, ” said  a pale-featured  man, 
coming  up  hurriedly  to  the  bar  of  a small  country 
tavern,  and  reaching  out  his  hand  eagerly. 

“ Nothing  more  at  this  bar  without  the  money : 
that’s  decided !”  was  the  tavern-keeper’s  firmly 
spoken  answer. 

“Just  a single  glass,  for  Heaven’s  sake!  I’ll 
settle  all  off  to-morrow,”  urged  the  wretched  man, 
as  he  leaned  on  the  counter,  and  bent  far  over  to- 
ward the  shelves  on  which  the  bottles  of  liquor 
were  ranged. 

“Not  a drop.  And,  see  here,  Erskine,  I don’t 
want  you  about  here  any  more ; so  just  keep  away 
for  good  and  all.  If  you’ll  do  that,  I’ll  wipe  off  old 
scores;  if  not,  confound  me  ! if  I don’t  clap  you  in 
jail  for  debt.  I won’t  have  such  a drunken,  good- 
for-nothing  fellow  hanging  about  my  premises. 
It’s  disgraceful !” 

“ That’s  hard  talk,  Grimes — hard  talk!”  said 
the  poor  wretch ; “ and  you  with  so  much  of  my 
money  in  your  till.  But  come  ! don’t  be  so  close 
with  me.  There — do  you  see  my  hand” — and  he 
held  out  his  arm,  that  shook  with  a strong  nervous 
tremour — “ I must  have  something  to  steady  me,  or 
I’m  gone  !” 

“Not  a dram  more.  I’ve  said  it,  and  I’ll  stick 
to  it,”  coldly  and  cruelly  answered  the  landlord. 
“And  what’s  more,  you’ve  got  to  leave  this  bar 
instanter.” 

And  as  Grimes  said  this,  he  passed  from  behind 

18* 


210 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON, 


tlie  counter.,  with  the  evident  intention  of  forcing 
his  customer  out  of  the  house.  A quick  change 
was  now  visible,  not  only  in  the  face  of  Erskine, 
but  in  his  whole  person.  His  hand,  that  lay  trem- 
bling against  the  bar  railing,  at  once  became  steady, 
and  griped  the  railing  firmly;  his  stooping  body, 
in  appearance  so  weak  and  unstrung,  rose  up  erect, 
while  a fierce,  defiant  scowl  darkened  his  counte- 
nance. By  this  time  the  landlord  had  left  the  bar, 
and  was  within  a few  feet  of  him. 

“ I want  you  to  leave  here  at  once,”  said  Grimes, 
sharply,  waving  his  hand,  and  nodding  his  head 
toward  the  door  as  he  spoke. 

“ I’m  not  just  ready  to  go,”  was  the  cool  reply 
of  Erskine,  as  his  now  glittering  eyes  fixed  them- 
selves on  the  face  of  Grimes. 

“ Go  you  must ! I’ve  said  it,  and  that  ends  it. 
And,  see  here,  you  loafing  vagabond  ! — if  you  ever 
set  your  foot  inside  of  my  house  again,  I’ll  cowskin 
you.  Go !” 

And  he  was  about  to  lay  his  hand  on  Erskine, 
when  the  latter  stepped  backward  a pace  or  two, 
saying,  as  he  did  so — 

“ Don’t  touch  me,  Bill  Grimes ! I’ve  got  the 
devil  in  me  now,  and  had  as  lief  kill  you  as  look  at 
you.  So  don’t  tempt  me.” 

“ Bah  !”  ejaculated  the  landlord,  contemptuously, 
advancing  again  upon  the  inebriate,  and  making  an 
attempt,  as  he  did  so,  to  grasp  him  by  the  collar, 
for  the  purpose  of  choking  him  into  submission. 
His  hand  had  scarcely  touched  the  person  of  Erskine, 
ere  the  latter,  with  a demoniac  cry,  sprang  upon 
him  with  so  sudden  a shock  as  to  bear  him  to  the 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON. 


211 


floor.  As  the  landlord  fell  beneath  his  assailant, 
the  grip  of  the  latter  was  on  his  throat.  To  free 
himself  from  this  he  deemed  an  easy  thing ; but  for 
once  he  was  in  error.  He  was  not  now  dealing, 
as  he  supposed,  with  a nerveless  and  exhausted 
drunkard,  whom  a child  might  overcome.  The 
poor,  despised  wretch  was  suddenly  transformed, 
through  an  influx  of  malignant  passions  into  the 
disordered  elements  of  his  mind,  to  a fierce  wild 
beast.  There  was  an  iron  grip  in  his  hand,  as  it 
tightened  on  the  throat  of  his  prostrate  victim ; 
while  the  terrible  expression  of  his  eyes  and  face 
too  clearly  indicated  his  purpose  to  commit  murder. 
And  fatal  would  have  been  the  result,  had  not  the 
timely  entrance  of  a third  person  prevented  the 
catastrophe. 

“I  told  you  the  devil  was  in  me,”  said  Erskine, 
as  he  shook  himself  free  from  the  hands  of  the  man 
who  had  dragged  him  from  the  fallen  body  of  the 
landlord,  and  stood  glaring  a fiendlike  defiance 
upon  the  now  thoroughly  frightened  Grimes.  “ I 
meant  to  have  killed  you ; and  I feel  like  doing  it 
yet.  It  would  be  nothing  more  than  a just  retri- 
bution. You  beggar  and  destroy,  body  and  soul,  a 
poor  wretch,  wdule  he  has  money  to  pay  you  for  the 
hellish  work ; but,  when  every  sixpence  he  had  in 
the  world  lies  safely  in  your  till,  you  would  thrust 
him  out  with  biting  insult,  even  though  he  stands 
shivering  in  nervous  exhaustion  before  you,  and 
almost  begs  for  a mouthful  of  stimulant  to  save 
him  from  horrible  madneslr?  Bill  Grimes  ! you 
may  be  thankful  for  your,  escape  now,  but  the  work 
shall  be  done  more  surely  if  ever  my  hand  reaches 


212 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON. 


your  accursed  throat  again.  Give  me  some 
brandy !” 

These  last  words  were  uttered  in  a loud,  fierce, 
commanding  voice.  Grimes  waited  not  for  their 
repetition,  but  hurried  into  his  bar,  and  taking  a 
decanter  of  brandy,  placed  it  upon  the  counter. 
This  was  seized  by  Erskine,  and  a large  glass  filled 
more  than  half  full  of  the  drugged  and  fiery  liquor, 
that  poisoned  while  it  fevered  the  system.  At  a 
single  draught  this  disappeared,  and  his  hand  was 
on  the  decanter  again,  when  both  the  landlord  and 
the  person  who  had  just  entered  interposed  to  pre- 
vent his  drinking  any  further.  Madly  he  resisted 
this  interference ; but  there  were  two  against  him 
now,  and,  though  he  struggled  desperately,  he  was 
soon  hurled  into  the  road,  and  the  door  barred 
against  him. 

Homeward  the  degraded  man  soon  after  turned 
his  steps.  Homeward  ! Had  he  a home  ? Reader, 
ten  years  have  passed  since  you  heard  his  mellow 
tones  swelling  upward  on  the  evening  air,  in  heart- 
gushing  thankfulness  for  the  possession  of  a home, 
lie  was  a man  then — a noble-minded,  unselfish, 
love-inspired  man,  into  whose  arms,  and  upon  whose 
bosom,  were  folded  household  treasures,  more  prized 
than  all  worldly  wealth  or  honours.  You  saw  the 
vine  and  flower-wreathed  cottage  nestling  beneath 
the  old  elms,  where  a joyful  reunion  took  place 
after  a brief  absence.  You  entered,  gazed  upon  the 
happy  group  within,  and  called  that  home  an 
earthly  paradise. 

Go  home  with  Henry  Erskine  again.  Only  ten 
brief  years  have  passed.  Is  he  still  in  the  cottage 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON. 


213 


under  the  elms  ? No,  no,  reader.  You  will  not 
find  him  there.  Long,  long  ago,  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren passed  weeping  from  its  door.  But  yonder,  in 
that  old,  dingy  hovel,  the  windows  shattered,  the 
little  enclosure  broken  down,  and  every  sign  of 
vegetation,  except  rank  weeds,  gone — there  you 
will  find  the  wretched  family,  of  Henry  Erskine. 
Ah ! no  less  changed  are  they.  You  will  look  in 
vain  on  their  countenances  for  signs  of  gentle, 
loving  affections.  In  the  fall  of  him  to  whom  they 
clung,  they  have  also  fallen — not  into  the  debasing 
slough  of  sensuality,  where  he  lies  prostrate  and 
almost  powerless  ; but  evil  affections  have  gradually 
prevailed,  until  the  garden  of  their  minds  is  over- 
run with  thorns  and  briers. 

You  enter  the  wretched  habitation.  Surely 
there  must  be  some  mistake ! In  twice  ten  years  a 
transformation  such  as  this  could  hardly  have  been 
wrought.  That  sharp-featured,  hollow-eyed  woman, 
who  sits  idle,  and  brooding  there,  as  if  all  hope  in 
life  had  faded,  cannot  be  the  once  glad-hearted 
Mrs.  Erskine  of  “ Elm  Cottage’ ’ ? These  hungry, 
miserably  clad,  prematurely  old-looking  children — 
are  they  the  same  we  saw  in  that  pleasant  home,  so 
gay  and  glad  with  their  happy  father  ? It  is  in- 
credible. This  cannot  be  the  home  of  a man. 
Alas,  no  ! It  is  the  abode  of  a demon  ! And,  see  ! 
he  enters  now  the  dwelling  accursed  by  his  pre- 
sence. Not  as  a man  comes  he,  with  blessings  for 
the  beloved  inmates,  but  as  a demon,  scattering, 
curses.  The  mother  starts  up,  the  children  shrink 
away — all  feel  the  shadow  that  rests  upon  their 
spirits  grow  darker. 


214 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON. 


From  some  cause  the  wretched  being  is  in  an  un* 
wonted  state  of  excitement.  There  is  something 
fearful  to  look  upon  in  his  face — a demoniac  expres- 
sion that  appals.  He  is  angry  with  himself — angry 
with  every  thing.  In  his  heart  is  a fierce  desire  to 
commit  violence. 

“ Ha ! what  are  you  doing  here  ?”  he  cries,  on 
discovering  that  his  oldest  boy  is  in  the  room. 
44  Why  have  you  come  home  ?” 

The  frightened  lad  stammers  out  something  about 
having  offended  his  master,  and  being  turned  away 
from  his  place.  Really  innocent  of  any  deliberate 
fault  is  the  boy.  He  is  not  the  wronger,  but  the 
wronged.  He  has  tried  to  please  a hard,  exacting 
master,  but  failed  in  the  earnest  effort.  All  this 
the  mother  comprehends.  But  the  insane  father 
takes  every  thing  for  granted  against  his  son. 
Seizing  him  cruelly  by  the  hair,  he  strikes  him 
with  his  clenched  fist,  and  assails  him  with  curses. 
Maddened  at  the  sight,  the  mother  seizes  a heavy 
stick,  and,  with  a single  blow,  paralyzes  the  arm  of 
her  husband. 

She  might  have  spared  that  blow.  Even  as  it 
was  descending,  the  hand  that  clutched  the  hair  of 
the  boy  was  loosening  its  grasp,  and  a paralyzing 
terror  seizing  the  heart  of  the  wretched  drunkard. 
What  has  fixed  his  eyes  ? Why  do  they  start  thus, 
almost  from  their  sockets  ? Is  a lion  in  the  door  ? 
— some  appalling  destruction  at  hand  ? Now  he  has 
sprung  to  his  feet — an  ashy  pallor  on  his  disfigured 
countenance — and  both  hands  are  raised  to  keep 
off  some  object  that  he  sees  approaching.  You  see 
nothing.  No^-your  eyes  are  not  opened ; and  pray 


TEE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON. 


218 


to  Heaven  they  never  may  be  a§  his  are  at  this 
fearful  moment.  But,  as  real  to  him  as  the  open 
door  itself,  entering  through  that  door,  and  ap- 
proaching him  nearer  and  nearer,  is  the  horrible 
form  of  a serpent,  bearing  upward  the  head  of  a 
man.  In  the  face,  all  malignant  passions  are  in 
vivid  play.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  comes — nearer 
and  nearer ! Backward  the  frightened  wretch 
shrinks,  almost  howling  in  terror,  until  he  crouches 
in  a far  corner  of  the  room,  both  hands  raised  to 
keep  off  the  monster  that  still  approaches.  Now, 
the  serpent  is  on  him  ! Now,  its  cold,  slimy  body 
is  enwreathing  neck  and  limbs!  Oh!  that  yell  of 
horror ! Will  it  ever  be  done  ringing  in  your  ears? 
It  was  as  the  cry  of  a lost  demon  ! 

Come  ! come  away!  It  is  too  horrible.  We  can- 
not endure  the  sight.  There — shut  the  door — hide 
from  all  eyes  but  those  of  the  -wretched  inmates, 
the  appalling  terrors  of  that  room. 

You  breathe  more  freely — yes — but  enough  has 
been  said  and  heard  to  make  you  sad  for  days — to 
make  you  thoughtful,  at  times,  for  life. 

Oh,  what  a work  ! The  transformation  of  a man 
into  a demon  ! And  what  on  this  beautiful  earth 
has  power  to  effect  so  fearful  a transformation? 
Is  the  fatal  secret  known  ? Do  fathers,  husbands, 
councilmen,  legislators,  statesmen,  know  in  what 
the  terrible  power  lies?  Ah,  strange,  yet  true,  and 
sad  to  tell,  the  monster  whose  breath  poisons,  whose 
touch  blights  every  leaf  of  virtue,  stalks  daily 
abroad,  his  name  emblazoned  on  his  forehead ! 
And,  stranger  far  than  this — councilmen  and  legis- 
lators, in  nearly  every  state,  take  bribes  from  thii 


216  THE  MAN  AND  THE  DEMON. 


monster,  for  the  privilege  of  working  these  fearful 
transformations.  They  sell,  for  money,  (can  it  he 
believed?)  yes,  they  sell  for  money,  the  right  to 
curse  the  hearths  and  homes  of  their  feJlow-men  — 
to  scatter  destruction  to  souls  and  bodies,  over  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  land  ! 

You  have  seen  one  man  transformed  to  a 
demon ! It  is  the  history  of  thousands  and  tens 
of  thousands.  All  around  you  are  in  progress, 
like  transformations.  When,  when  will  the  work 
cease  ? When  will  the  monster  of  destruction  be 
bound  ? 

Man,  husband,  father,  citizen,  sleep  no  longer ! 
Up!  arouse  yourself!  There  is  a terrible  enemy 
abroad.  Come  up  bravfely,  resolutely  to  the  battle, 
and  lay  not  off  your  armour  until  the  victory  is 
won.  Fear  not — falter  not.  All  the  powers  of 
heaven  are  on  your  side,  and  if  you  fight  on 
bravely,  you  will  conquer  at  last.  God  speed  the 
day  of  victory ! 


* 


THE  END. 


T.  S.  Arthurs  Popular  Works. 


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With  Illustrations.  Cloth.  $1 25. 

ADVICE  TO  YOJJNG  MEN  on  their  Duties 

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ADVICE  TO  YOUNG  LADIES  on  their  Duties 

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THE  WITHERED  HEART.  Affording  a striking 

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, f 

THE  ANGEL  AND  THE  DEMON  A work  of 

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AFTER  THE  STORM.  A new  and  fascinating  volume 

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THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD,  and 

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LIGHT  ON  SHADOWED  PATHS.  Stories  which 

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paths  of  others,  and  which  afford  much  of  invaluable  instruction,  tending 
to  rend  the  clouds  that  may  hover  o’er  us,  and  to  keep  us  within  the  sunshine 
of  life.  By  T.  S.  Arthur.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

DPT  IN  THE  WORLD.  Unveiling  the  sad  experiences 

that  necessarily  await  jealous,  proud,  and  sensitive  young  men,  and  undis- 
ciplined, wayward,  and  petulant  young  women ; also,  revealing  the  tree 
and  only  way  of  escape.  By  T.  8.  Arthur.  Cloth.  $1  50. 


NEW  AND  LATE  BOOKS. 


> 


OUR  NEIGHBORS  IN  THE  CORNER 

Souse,  A fascinating  and  stirring  narrative,  which  adds  its  terrible 
evidence  to  the  fact  that  sin  will  find  people  out,  and  that  justice  will 
triumph  over  injury— even  under  extraordinary  circumstances.  By  T.  S. 
Arthur.  Cloth.  $1 50. 

\ 

NOTHING  BJJT  MONEY.  Picturing,  in  the  most 

forcible  style,  the  difference  between  avaricious  and  ambitious  men  and  those 
who  prefer  social  happiness  and  peace ; also,  offering  a striking  lesson  to  the 
very  many  young  minds  in  which  gold  outlustres  every  other  consideration. 
By  T.  S.  Arthur.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

WHAT  CAME  AFTERWARDS.  A sequel  to  the 

preceding  volume,  yet  a story  complete  in  itself,  in  which  we  are  shown 
how  the  precious  gold  in  our  natures,  after  we  have  encountered  severe 
discipline,  will  reveal  itself  in  our  intercourse  with  the  world.  By  T.  S. 
Arthur.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

THE  THREE  ERAS  IN  A WOMAN’S  LIFE ; 

or,  the  Maiden,  the  Wife,  and  the  Mother,  A work  depicting  the 
happy  effects  of  right  training  when  brought  in  distinct  contrast  with  the 
wrong,  and  showing  also  the  fruits  of  right  living.  By  T.  S.  Arthur.  With 
Frontispiece.  Cloth.  $1 50. 

RE  FORE  AND  AFTER  MARRIAGE;  or, 

Sweethearts  and  Wives,  and  Other  Tales.  Drawing  choice  pictures 
of  lovers  and  husbands  and  wives,  faithfully  contrasting  marriage  and 
celibacy,  and  teaching  the  folly  of  employing  money  to  the  mere  pampering 
of  pride  and  indolence.  By  T.  S.  Arthur.  With  Frontispiece.  Cloth.  $1 50. 

THE  MABTYB  WIFE,  and  Other  Tales . A 

remarkably  interesting  work,  pointing  out  social  follies,  and  including  the 
excellent  and  popular  stories  of  “The  Heiress,”  and  “The  Ruined  Gamester  M 
Bjr  T.  S.  Arthur.  Cloth.  $1  50. 


1* 


e 


NEW  AND  LATE  BOOKS. 


MARY  ELLIS ; or,  The  Runaway  Match,  and 

Other  Tales . Attractive  experiences  that  will  readily  commend  them- 
selves to  the  real  life  of  many  who  have  sought  for  but  never  found  their 
ideal.  By  T.  S.  Arthur.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

THE  YOUNG  LALY  AT  HOME.  Home  stories 

most  happily  drawn  by  the  author,  involving  the  troubles,  errors,  and  per- 
plexities incident  to  domestic  life,  and  showing  woman’s  real  mission.  By 
T.  S.  Arthur.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

STEPS  TOW  ARES  HEAVEN ; or,  Religion  in 

Common  Life,  A volume,  free  from  sectarian  or  denominational  influ- 
ences, which  cannot  but  deeply  impress  the  mind,  and  awaken  in  every  on# 
the  highest  type  of  human  happiness.  By  T.  S.  Arthur.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  REAL  LIFE . 

Containing  a series  of  captivating  and  intensely  interesting  Temperance 
stories,  which,  perhaps,  no  other  author  can  furnish  with  equal  acceptance, 
and  containing  a moral  suasion  which  cannot  but  affect  for  good  all  who 
read.  By  T.  S.  Arthur.  With  Illustrations.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

SKETCHES  OF  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER. 

Pleasantly  written  stories,  drawn  from  everyday  life,  and  free  from  all 
exaggerations,  which  invariably  leave  a powerful  impression  upon  the 
mind  of  the  reader.  By  T.  S.  Arthur.  With  Illustrations.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

LEAVES  FROM  THE  BOOK  OF  IT  UMAX 

IAfe.  A choice  selection  of  stories,  intended  to  leave  the  mind  aetive  with 
good  purposes  and  kindly  sympathies — the  value  of  each  one  of  which  is 
clearly  evident.  By  T.  S.  Arthur.  Numerous  Illustrations.  Cloth.  $175. 

SWEET  HOME ; or,  Friendship’s  Golden  Altar • 

A companion  for  the  evening  hour ; pure  in  morals,  elevating  in  tone,  cheer- 
ful, hopeful,  and  reverent  in  all  its  views  of  God,  and  a transcript  of 41  Home, 
Sweet  Home.”  By  Frances  E.  Percivax-  With  Mezzotint  Frontispleo*. 
Cloth.  $1  25. 


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